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stylesharrys · 8 days

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special smokes [weedrry]

summary: harry and y/n struggle with their self-control after sharing a joint at niall’s house party.

word count: 3,774

warnings: mentions and consumption of marijuana (smoking a joint) and alcohol, smut; kissing, teasing, swearing, dirty talk, oral (male receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, cream pie, light spanking

a/n: at first i had no intention of following up on weedrry and y/n but so many requested it and the more i considered it, the more ideas i kept getting hehe. they’re probably one of my favourite couples to write at this point and i have some other ideas in the woodwork for them aswell!! this is technically part two of special brownies but it can also be read as a standalone :) anyway, i hope you enjoy darlings and happy belated 420 hehe <3

They promised to never talk about it again. But that didn’t stop either of them lying in bed at night, reminiscing how each other tasted. It didn’t stop Harry from thinking about his roommate as he touched himself in the shower and painted the tiles with his come. Just like it didn’t stop Y/N from pretending her thick dildo was Harry’s cock when she got herself off at three in the morning.

Neither of them was aware of the other's shenanigans. Harry thought Y/N was too embarrassed to think about it and Y/N thought Harry just forgot. Of course, Tom’s none the wiser to anything that’s happened. Even living with the two, he’s yet to notice that slight shift in the atmosphere – that tension that seems to follow wherever they go together.

And tonight is no different. They’re both slightly turned on at the thought of one another as they sit huddled around the fire in Niall’s garden. He’s one of the few friends who was sensible enough to apply for a house rather than an apartment, and Harry is always sure to reap the benefits of it.

It’s nearly ten o’clock and the house party Niall threw for his birthday is in full swing. Y/N recognises a few faces, not nearly as many as Harry (who’s known to have been a bit of a serial dater in the past), but it doesn’t change her mood in the slightest.

She’s been perched on a sun lounger for the past forty-five minutes, five drinks in and slowly starting to feel the buzz of the alcohol. She promised herself she wouldn’t drink too heavily tonight – not when she knows how sleepy she gets with alcohol. She doesn’t want to be found passed out on some random person's bed that Niall houseshares with.

Harry’s been sporting the same beer for the past half an hour. Much like Y/N, he also wasn’t really in the mood to get shitfaced, despite it being his best friend's birthday. He has a job interview tomorrow afternoon and he cannot deal with cradling a hangover at the same time.

His eyes have been on her body most of the night. Despite living together, he’s hardly seen Y/N at home in the past two weeks since… well… you know. At first, he thought she was just busy, but now he’s starting to get the idea that she’s avoiding him.

Harry’s sure it’s down to embarrassment, and as much as he wants his friend back, he promised he wouldn’t bring it up again. He doesn’t want to embarrass Y/N any further. It hurts his ego a little bit if he’s honest. Harry struggles to understand if she’s embarrassed she slept with her friend, or if she’s embarrassed because she slept with him.

If he pulled his head out of his ass, he might realise that it’s the former. Mostly. Because the other half of what she’s feeling is pure lust. Y/N struggles to even look at Harry the same since they hooked up two weeks ago. When she looks at him, all she sees is him naked – so she’s certain he sees the same when he looks at her.

She takes another swig of her drink in an attempt to drown the groan that tries to escape. God, it’s criminal how even just the thought of him naked manages to get her worked up like this. He’s her friend for crying out loud. She needs to get her thoughts in order.

Harry’s telling himself the same thing. Struggling to think of anything other than kissing up her smooth, exposed thighs and burying his head under her little sundress right there, in front of everyone to see. His cock stiffens slightly in his pants and he shifts a little in his chair – as discretely as he can.

“Who’s up for a round of spin the bottle!”

The group in the garden chant a groan in unison at Niall’s suggestion. “We’re not fifteen, Ni… nobody wants to play spin the bottle.” Alfie pipes up from his crisscrossed position on the patio floor.

Niall rolls his eyes and places an empty wine bottle in the middle of the group anyway. Involuntarily, everyone begins to form a circle around it, knees knocking as they do. Y/N remains on the deck chair, pulling the back up so she sits upright like Harry who’s still opposite her.

Niall gets comfortable on the ground, his eyes alight like a kid on Christmas. He’s about to take his turn when he furrows his brows and begins to pat down his pockets like he’s forgotten something.

“Anybody got a smoke?”

“Nah,” Jessie calls back, “I’ve got a couple of joints, though.”

Harry and Y/N’s eyes find one another as their bodies grow paralysed at the mention of the one thing that got them in this situation in the first place.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Oooh,” Niall grins, “Jessie’s got the special smokes… come on then, lad. Light ‘em up and pass ‘em around.”

Y/N’s heart begins to thump against her ribcage as she tears her gaze away from Harry’s. There’s no way in Hell this is happening right now. She tells herself to calm down, that she doesn’t have to have a pull of the joint.

But as it makes its way around the circle until it’s between her fingers, she finds herself taking a long, deep drag of it anyway. It burns the back of her throat, as weed always has, but she holds it for as long as she can before slowly exhaling and passing it back down to Niall who sits in front of her.

When she lifts her gaze, her eyes lock on Harry’s. There’s a shit-eating grin on his face as he holds the second joint between his fingers – like he knows they’re going to end up in the same situation as last time and he’s more than okay with that. Harry takes a drag just as Y/N had and passes it off to Genevieve next to him.

Harry manages to hold it in longer than Y/N can and he keeps his eyes locked on hers when he slowly exhales. When the joint makes its way back to Y/N and she’s taking her second pull, she’s giving in to all the dirty thoughts in her head. Her wicked smirk matches Harry’s now and the game of spin the bottle begins.

Niall starts first, landing on Genevieve who he kisses quite happily. Gen spins and lands on Jessie. Then when Jessie spins, he lands on… Y/N.

Her eyes are quick to flicker between him and Harry as she registers the situation. There’s a third and fourth joint passing through the group and for a moment, she’s too stoned to realise what’s going on.

There’s a look on Harry’s face, though – an unamused one. His jaw is set tightly and his brows are gently pinched as he watches Jessie approach Y/N with a lopsided grin. He doesn’t understand why anger begins to bubble in the pit of his stomach. And Y/N doesn’t understand why she feels so weird about being kissed by someone else in front of him.

But she welcomes Jessie’s lips against hers anyway. It’s soft, gentle. He’s not a bad kisser, but after a few seconds, he pulls away and hands her the joint before returning to his seat. She looks to Harry again with pursed lips and he’s chewing at the inside of his cheek.

Y/N takes another pull for the joint and reaches for the bottle when Niall’s hand on hers stops her.

“I have an idea to make this more interesting.”

She looks at him, eyebrow raised.

“You have to hook up with the person it lands on.”

Her eyes widen and a laugh rumbles from her chest. “Niall, you can’t make me hook up with anyone. That’s not how this game works. You’re not fucking Cupid.”

Niall frowns, displeased by her attitude. He crosses his arms over his chest and pinches the joint from her fingers, huffing. “Fine.”

Y/N spins the bottle, leaning back as she watches it rotate until it lands on Harry. His eyes are on hers, hungry. She takes a deep breath and clears her throat, stepping between people as she approaches him.

Harry cranes his head up, still not entirely happy that she kissed Jessie, but he welcomes her mouth on his instantly. They’re lustful, almost forgetting their surroundings as Harry swipes his tongue across her bottom lip. She’s about to do the same, to tangle her fingers in his hair when whistling and cheering breaks them apart.

They’re both incredibly flushed and hot as Y/N moves back to her seat, licking over her bottom lip for another distant taste of him. Harry’s no better, his cock beginning to swell. He clears his throat and leans down to take his turn.

There’s a resounding gasp as it lands on Y/N and they're forced to kiss again, this time Harry approaching Y/N and kissing her a little hungrier. When she spins her turn, it lands back on Harry and the group is growing both tired and a little suspicious of the game.

It gets harder and harder for them to keep their hands to themselves. The stolen kisses feed the fire in their bellies and Niall is quick to call off the game and suggest some truth or dare instead, like the fifteen-year-old he seems to be.

Both Y/N and Harry hardly listen to the game unfold. Both are too stoned and lust-filled to pay attention to anything. They’re stealing glances from across the circle, sharing knowing looks that they’re both desperate to escape everyone else and hide away together somewhere.

It goes on like this for another ten minutes and pinching the joint from Niall’s hand, Harry takes initiative and stands from his chair. “Y/N, shall we go and sort out Ni’s present now?”

He’s got a brow raised expectantly and her eyes widen at his little fib. They both miss the way Niall looks between them with a beaming smile full of excitement.

“You’s got me a present?”

Y/N blinks, finally looking at her friend. “Oh, yeah! Sorry, we completely forgot. Do you mind if we get it sorted? It’s not quite finished yet.” She lies through her teeth.

Harry’s smirk grows tenfold at the way she plays along with the little game and Niall nods his head.

“Thanks, Ni,” Harry says kindly, voice a bit condescending but Niall’s too stoned to notice. “Do you mind if I smoke this in the house?”

Niall waves his hand dismissively. “I don’t care, I do it all the time.”

Harry looks back to Y/N, tilting his head to the door with a smirk. She follows him inside, giddy with lust and anticipation. He takes her hand in his, guiding her as he weaves through other party-goers until they reach the stairs. It’s a little quieter when they reach the top, Harry opening doors and quickly closing them when he finds they’re already occupied.

He’s growing frustrated, only one room left that he hasn’t checked – Niall’s room. He tugs them both inside when he realises it’s empty, closing and locking the door behind them. Harry takes a pull of the joint and leaves it hanging between his lips as his fingers work on the buttons at the top of Y/N’s sundress.

She’s full of adrenaline and arousal, unable to think clearly – her mind far too consumed by lust. Harry pops open just enough buttons to reveal her bare chest, breasts exposed to his hungry eyes and he groans.

Taking the joint from his lips, he brings it to Y/N’s, encouraging her to take a hit. She does as instructed as Harry’s hands find her tits, kneading softly before he leans down to envelop her left nipple in his warm mouth.

She exhales the smoke a bit prematurely, taking another pull to make up for it and with her free hand, her fingers tangle into his brown locks.

“Harry,” she breathes and it’s like crack to him; hearing his name tumble off her lips like that. God, he wants that on repeat in his mind forever.

He nips at the underswell of her breast, pinching the perk nipple between his fingers. “What do you want?” he mumbles against the fleshy skin.

Y/N tugs at the roots of his hair, forcing his head up until their eyes are level. She places the joint between his lips now and slowly begins to sink to her knees.

“I want to taste you.”

Harry’s eyes are blown and bloodshot as she begins to unbutton his pants, shimmying them down his thighs just enough to allow his cock to spring free. He’s bigger than she remembers him to be; thick and full and his ruddy tip begins to leak with arousal.

Y/N laps at his slit, allowing herself a taste. It’s an unholy sight – the way her breasts gently move as she closes her mouth around him. In Harry’s intoxicated state, everything feels so much more heightened. Her mouth feels warmer, wetter… the whole thing feels filthy and he loves it.

She’s pressing slopping kisses along the length of him, angling her face to take his balls into her hot mouth as she pays them a little more attention. She pulls off him with a gentle kiss, staring up with doe eyes and a devilish grin.

“Fuck my throat.”

Harry could’ve come there and then, hearing those words fall from her lips. He takes another drag of the joint before pinching it back between his fingers and placing his open palms on the side of her head – the smoke from the joint no doubt clinging to her hair.

If she was sober, she’d tell him off for it. But she’s not and she doesn’t.

Instead, she relaxes her jaw as her mouth opens and her tongue lays flat as Harry guides his cock back to the waiting hole. Taking a shaky breath, his hips slowly begin to move, getting her used to his size until he picks up momentum.

Y/N’s eyes begin to sting, tears welling and his head hits the back of her throat, knocking the air from her lungs. Harry grows faster, eager. His chest is heaving and his lips part as he fucks into her.

It’s obscene, the noises her throat makes as he shoves himself further down with every snap of his lips. Strings of saliva begin to drip from the corners of Y/N’s mouth as she gags around him, her throat contracting as she splutters on his cock.

“Taking me so fucking well, baby.”

The praise goes straight to her cunt, wetness seeping through her little panties with every syllable he throws her way. Her eyes are shut tight now, unable to keep them open as Harry uses her for his own pleasure.

It’s sloppy and messy and needy. Neither of them have experienced anything so fucking sexy in their lives. The sex was good before, but this time – sneaking around and much higher than previously – it’s even more intense.

It doesn’t take much for Harry to near his end. And when Y/N cradles his heavy balls in her hand, fingernails ghosting over the divots of skin, Harry’s certain he’s about to meet his maker.

He pulls out of her mouth harshly, not giving her the chance to tell him she needs his cum drowning her throat. His arousal is too quick to paint her chest, coating her nipples in creamy ecstasy as Y/N struggles to catch her breath.

He comes, a lot, but his stamina doesn’t falter. She’s barely given chance to admire the artwork he marked her with before he’s tugging her up by the crook of her elbow. Y/N’s shoved against the foot of the bed, legs spread and ass in the air, tummy on the mattress.

Harry’s hands are hungry on her hips, bunching up the bottom of her sundress until it rests on her lower back. He feels over her subtle asscheeks, offering three spanks to her left and whimpering as the fleshy skin wobbles.

“Harry, please.”

She’s whining now, eager to be filled again. Harry tugs her little thong to the side, her cunt glistening and puffy from neglect. He wants to taste her, spend an eternity between her soaked thighs but the way Y/N wiggles her hips and backs up against him suggests she needs something more right now.

“I just wanna taste you for a bit,” he says.

She’s shaking her head, despite how badly she wants to feel him lapping up her pussy. She’s far too soaked and horny to settle for his tongue right now.

“Next time.”

Harry’s heart races a little at that. Next time? So, she plans for there to be. Not that Harry has a problem with it. He’d be more than fucking happy to make this a regualr thing if she wanted it.

Listening to her request, he lines his head with her entrance, pushing through her folds to coat himself in her slickness. Her legs are trembling in need, face smushed into the blanket and she knows she’s ruining it with her makeup and the come that covers her tits, but she cannot bring herself to care.

With the joint still between his fingers, Harry brings it back to his lips for another drag. He lines himself back with her puckering hole and gentle sheaths inside. She’s tight – tighter than he remembers – and her walls are so fucking slick it feels like he’s being swallowed whole.

A shriek escapes Y/N’s mouth at the familiar intrusion, the way he stretches and fills her to the brim. Her mind feels dizzy, vision dotting with white lights as Harry begins to fuck the soul out of her.

It’s fast and deep, and she’s quick to soak his pubic bone with arousal. Harry leans over her body, guiding the joint to her lips, allowing her a puff. “Hold onto that for me, gorgeous.”

She takes it from her lips and stretches her arm above her head, wrist against the blanket and joint pointing in the air. His hands are back on her hips as he grips her tight.

“Good girl, angel.”

Smack!

His pace is criminal, balls slapping against her throbbing clit with every hit of his hips that he delivers. She’s struggling to stay coherent, unable to string a sentence together as she begs him for more, more, more.

Harry grips her hips hard, bringing her cunt to him as he fucks into her. Y/N’s body is limp — lets him use her as a toy for his own pleasure and takes whatever he offers.

She shouldn’t enjoy this so much, getting fucked by her friend, her roommate. But it’s too good to realise they’re stepping on dangerous territory. With the promise of next time.

“Tight little cunt was fucking made for me.”

“It’s yours! I’m yours!”

Her words are a struggle to speak, heart in her throat as her pussy drips for him. It’s too much for Harry. To see her so bare and willing and done for him. To know the affect he has on her, to be buried so fucking deep in her cunt that she can hardly talk.

His orgasm creeps up on him quickly, cock twitching within the tight confinements of her walls. She feels it, she feels everything. And it only spurs her release on, too.

Her cunt clenches around him, legs beginning to tremble and a wanton cry crawls out from her lips. “I’m gonna come!”

Harry keeps his pace steady, coaxes her through it with deep and precise strokes. The tip of his cock continues to pinch at her cervix, the curve in his length rubbing deliciously against her g-spot.

Y/N shudders around him, desperate to milk him for all he’s got as she explodes. She’s quick to bury her face into the blanket, muffling her screams as her vision spots black and white kaleidoscopes behind her eyes.

“Give it to me, baby. Come all over me… that’s it.”

He’s quick to follow, bursts of hot come painting the walls of her cunt and Harry stills inside of her, knees buckling as he tries to keep himself steady.

It’s quiet for a moment, save for their heavy breathing and wheezing chests.

It must be true what they say about post-nut clarity. Because as they come down from their highs, there’s a tension in the room that’s far too suffocating. And it only gets worse when Harry slowly pulls out of her cunt and leaves her bent over Niall’s bed, dripping onto the blanket beneath her.

Harry clears his throat as he tucks himself back into his pants and watches Y/N wobble to her feet as she stands. They don’t look at each other, at least not face-to-face.

Her tits are still out and his arousal on her chest has transferred to the blanket. She's quick to fix her dress and her underwear — more than a little uncomfortable with the feeling of Harry’s come dribbling out of her.

She gnaws on the inside of her cheek. “We should leave separately, so no one suspects anything.”

Harry’s not given much time to confer before she shimmies out of Niall’s room and down the hall to the closest bathroom. He’s left there, slightly stunned and a little embarrassed. It’s a bit confusing, it didn’t feel like a mistake after the last time. But now, with how quickly she wanted to leave, Harry worries she regrets it.

He scratches at the back of his head, wincing at the sight of Niall’s blanket. There’s come stains on the green fabric and the joint that Y/N was supposed to hold had been dropped mid-orgasm and burnt a small hole through the blanket.

Deciding it would be best to just replace it, Harry bunches the blanket up into a ball and shoves it in the trash can in the corner of the room — making a mental note to buy Niall a new one.

It’s the least of his concerns, though.

Because despite Harry’s worry about Y/N’s regret, he still craves her touch and her presence. And she’s just the same — cleaning herself up in the bathroom and splashing water in her face to try to calm down.

All she can think about is how much she needs him and it doesn’t feel just sexual anymore. For either of them.

What the hell have they gotten themselves into?

let me know what you thought :)

tags: @stilesissaved @kiwitsayedsugar @savannahwendel @triski73 @stylesfever @kissfromadove

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #imagine harry styles #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fluff #harry styles fic #harry styles angst

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steddieas-shegoes · 2 months

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it's not ever what it looks like

for @steddielovemonth prompt 'love is saying you're sorry'

rated m | 3,299 words | cw: language, implied sexual content | tags: angst with a happy ending, arguing, established relationship, hurt/comfort, rock star eddie munson, teacher steve harrington, modern au, steve thinks eddie is cheating on him but HE ISN'T I PROMISE, marriage proposal

💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

It wasn't the first time Steve woke up to pictures and articles about Eddie being seen with some model or actor, but it was the first time he'd actually been worried.

Eddie had been distant lately. Usually, when he was on tour, he'd call Steve on his lunch break and text him when he got off of work, and he'd try to Facetime him after his show if it wasn't in a different time zone.

But for the past week or so, he had excuses. They sounded legitimate until one of the afternoons he said the band was caught up in an interview so he couldn't call and Jeff called him ten minutes later to ask where Eddie was. Even with that, Steve hadn't assumed he was cheating.

Steve figured maybe Eddie was just tired or his social battery had run out. Those kinds of things happened before occasionally.

But not daily for over a week.

He was barely even responding to texts, and the ones he did respond to were hours later and hardly adding to any conversation.

And now this article.

There was a picture of Eddie standing with his arm around some guy who was taller than him, both of them laughing, looking at each other like...well. Steve knew that look because it'd only ever been pointed at him, but now he was seeing it pointed at just some guy.

The headline read EDDIE MUNSON GIVING UP HIGH SCHOOL SWEETHEART FOR SUPERMODEL SUPERSTAR?

Steve decided the only way through this was to read the entire article. At least then he could probably convince himself they were wrong.

Except the article went on to explain how Eddie hadn't brough Steve to any shows yet this tour, and how he'd been flirting more with the crowd after the show instead of just during it, how he was seen at two bars over the last week when he usually doesn't go out after shows.

It went on to say that these pictures were taken shortly after they'd been seen sneaking away from a group of people they'd been hanging out with and that they seemed very close for the entire night. The article said the guy was a male lingerie model who made it big posing for Gucci last year. He'd just landed his first film role as a supporting actor and was looking to land a lead role soon.

Steve hated him. And he was getting a terrible feeling in his gut about what was going on.

He had 26 unread texts, most of them from Robin, Dustin, and Gareth.

All of them had said mostly the same things:

I can't get ahold of Eddie.

He wouldn't do this.

Something else is going on.

Call me when you can.

The last one was Gareth, and it's not that he and Gareth weren't close, but they never talked on the phone.

He tried not to think about he didn't have a single message or missed call from Eddie.

Steve called Gareth.

"Steve. Shit, I'm glad you called."

"What's going on?"

Gareth sighed. "Ed's kinda losing it. But before you call him-"

"Why would I call him? Shouldn't he be the one to call me? If he wants to be with some supermodel, he should probably be the one to break up with me, right?" Steve could feel tears gathering in his eyes, stinging the back of his throat. "I'm not sure why I have to be the one to hurt and do the breaking up."

"Steve-"

"Is there something you needed Gareth? Or were you just trying to defend your friend?"

"There's nothing to defend! I swear-"

"Yeah. Well. Tell him to call me if he wants to explain anything, I guess."

Steve hung up just before a sob ripped from his throat.

He never had to worry about Eddie being a famous rock star, spending 6-7 months of the year gone, meeting all kinds of flashy celebrities. Eddie loved him so much, he never had any doubt that he'd always be his first choice.

Until now.

It was a shitty feeling and he had to be at work in less than an hour.

No time to wallow.

He sent a quick text to Robin to let her know he was okay, but needed to focus on getting through work, then shut off his phone.

"Is everything okay?" the art teacher, Mrs. Phineas, asked him on their lunch break. "You seem out of it today."

"Just a migraine," Steve gave a half-smile, hoped it was enough to convince her to leave him alone. He still hadn't turned on his phone, and at this point, he didn't really want to.

She tilted her head to the side. "When are you off to see your man?"

"Don't know," he shrugged, ignoring the tug in his stomach, the sudden weight in his chest.

"Ah," she said, turning back to her soup. "Something happened."

"Nothing happened!"

"You look two seconds away from crying," she gave him a deadpan look. "Did he hurt you?"

Mrs. Phineas was a little older than Wayne, close to retirement, and had been his closest friend from the moment he started teaching at this school nearly six years ago. He'd told her everything about Eddie, their relationship, his hopes of Eddie taking a longer break after this tour so they could have some time just the two of them, maybe make a real plan for their future.

Steve nodded once.

Her hand covered his and she squeezed his fingers in her own. "I may not know him half as well as I know you, but I know that boy loves you. You two will get through this, whatever it is."

"I dunno if we will," Steve whispered, scared to speak louder and risk the tears falling. He'd been doing so well today.

She patted his hand and went back to eating, saying nothing else about it.

His students had caught on early that he wasn't quite his usual self, and the group of second graders had been on their best behavior because of it. As the dismissal bell rang and he started calling for bus riders to line up, someone walked through his door.

Eddie walked through his door.

He bit back the anger, knowing his students loved Eddie and wouldn't know he was here for any reason other than to say hello.

"Mr. Munson!" A few of them yelled as most of them ran up to him instead of getting in the line Steve asked them to.

"Hi kiddos!" Eddie was faking it, but luckily the students couldn't tell. "Sorry, but you guys have to listen to Mr. H right now. I promise I will come say hi again tomorrow."

The students grumbled about it and Steve took in his appearance.

He had dark circles under his eyes like he hadn't slept the night before, his hair was in a messy bun instead of perfectly arranged to fall on his shoulders, and he was wearing Steve's hoodie that had suspiciously gone missing the last time he'd been home.

The fact that Steve's first thought was how badly he wanted to pull him into a hug was not a good sign.

He checked names off the list as they filtered out the door and then called the car riders to line up. He went through the list and made sure everyone made it into the hall where they'd be called when their parent pulled up before turning back to Eddie.

He closed his door and made his way to his desk, ignoring the way Eddie awkwardly stood by one of the student desks in the front.

"What are you doing here?" Steve asked, signing off of his work email and organizing tomorrow's lesson plan.

"I needed to explain-"

"Right."

"That article wasn't supposed to come out yet."

Steve's jaw dropped. So he wasn't going to deny it, he was just gonna act like it was the media's fault for releasing it before he could talk to Steve.

"Yeah. So you decided to come break up with me in person because you got caught cheating instead of doing it over the phone right before the article hit online. Got it."

Steve was not going to cry about this. Not in front of Eddie.

He was going to go home, shower, try to eat something, and then he was going to cry for the next 10 hours.

"No, Steve, you don't understand."

"You're right, I don't. I don't understand how you could throw away a 10 year relationship for a model who doesn't even know your middle name. I don't understand how you can fly all the way here and interrupt my day at my job to try to explain to me why you were so cozy with a guy who doesn't even know that you like your hot chocolate with Bailey's instead of regular milk. I really don't understand how you couldn't even bother to text or call me one single time since the article to even try to explain anything." Steve wiped his eyes furiously, angry that his tears were betraying him. "I don't understand why you would expect me to care for reasons."

Eddie wordlessly picked Steve's phone up off the desk and powered it on. He set it down in front of Steve and waited.

Texts and calls and emails came through all at once, hundreds of notifications lighting up his screen.

Many of them from Eddie himself.

"Go ahead. Open them," Eddie didn't sound mad, he just sounded resigned.

So Steve read through the texts, many of them different renditions of 'please Steve, call me' and 'I love you sweetheart I'm sorry.' Not promising.

But then he started playing the voicemails.

"Stevie, it's really not what it looks like. It's never what it looks like. You know that. Please call me as soon as you can. I love you."

"I can explain everything if you call me back. I promise you it isn't anything more than a business thing. Everyone in the band can tell you. I swear. Just. Please."

"I'm getting on a flight to you now. I'm gonna keep trying to call you even when I land. I need you to know what's going on."

"Just landed. I'm on my way to you. The guys are a little pissed, but you're more important than the show tonight. I'm not doing my own thing until I know you understand."

Steve looked up at him, tears still falling down his face.

"Well?" He asked, broken.

"His name is Wyatt. He's trying to make it in the acting world and he was pretty much told he was the top choice for playing lead in a movie that's in early stages of development," Eddie spoke quickly.

"Great for him."

"It's actually great for all of us. The movie is a biopic of Corroded Coffin. He's expected to play me."

At any other time, Steve would be proud, he'd be jumping up and down at this chance for them, and he'd be kissing Eddie without a care in the world.

But he still saw that picture and that article, and no matter how much "business" was going on, it was pretty clear that wasn't all that was going on.

"So you thought sleeping with him would help him get into the role? Or did you just wanna get into him?" Steve bit back.

"The article was wrong! The picture was just really conveniently timed! You know the media are vultures, Stevie. How many times have they written about us breaking up? How many times have they said Gareth and I have secretly been married for the last two years? How many times have they tried to post shitty things about your relationship before me to prove that you can't possibly be queer?" Eddie pulled Steve to his feet and cupped his face in his hands. "I've been spending the last two weeks talking with him and the producer and the guys to see what might work best for production. They want us involved in as much of the writing and filming part as possible. And he had time in his schedule to come to a show last night, so we all took him out after so he could get a taste of what it's like for us. He's really excited for the role and all of us are really excited for the movie."

Steve felt stupid. Well, maybe not stupid. His feelings were valid and he wasn't dramatic about what he'd seen.

But he did feel a little shitty about doubting Eddie.

Eddie, who had literally flown across the country to explain in person so that there was no way Steve could misunderstand him. Eddie, who once Doordashed him soup from his favorite restaurant when he was sick even though he was in Europe. Eddie, who sent letters to the kids in his class once a month to talk about how important music is and following your dreams. Eddie, who loved him for ten years and wouldn't have let anyone get in the way of what they'd built.

Steve fell against Eddie, buried his face in his neck and his hands in his shirt. Eddie's arms wrapped around him, his voice saying something against his shoulder. Steve couldn’t hear him, but he didn’t think he needed to.

He just needed to feel him.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said against his neck. Tears soaked the hoodie under him, and Steve could feel tears against his own button down. “I shouldn’t have- I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” Eddie shook his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone until the article hit, but I was still gonna call you and warn you but I didn’t and I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. This is part of the whole lifestyle. I should be used to it,” Steve shuddered as Eddie’s hand scratched at his scalp. “I should’ve reacted better.”

“We both didn’t treat this the way we should’ve.”

Steve snorted, nodded as he found the spot Eddie had tattooed on his neck a couple years earlier. He pressed his lips over the tattoo of his lip print.

“You flew across the country over this,” Steve pulled away and looked at Eddie, vision blurred from crying. “Just to make things okay.”

“I needed you to know. I needed to hold you. I needed to have you in front of me. And I wanted to celebrate the fact that we’re getting a movie about our lives,” Eddie smirked. “I wonder who will play you. Someone with a nice ass is a must. Their hair will have to defy gravity. Don’t know if they’ll find anyone with that smile, though.”

“Me? Why would they need anyone to play me?” Steve played with the string of the hoodie. “That might be kinda boring.”

“How would they make a movie about me and not include you? You’re the reason I ever made it past Hawkins, sweet thing,” Eddie leaned in to kiss his bottom lip. “Maybe they’ll just cast you. No one else could pull it off.”

“Eds-“ Steve blushed. “Wait. Okay, I trust you, but what were you doing in the picture?”

Eddie laughed. “He had just finished telling me about his boyfriend who lives in Italy. He’s apparently just a regular guy in finance who has no interest in the whole fame thing. Sound familiar?”

“Sounds like you two have a lot in common.”

“The picture was me asking if we could crash at their home in Italy next summer on our honeymoon,” Eddie said casually.

Steve froze. “Honeymoon?”

“I’m open to other places, but you still haven’t been to Italy and I know how much you wanted to see Rome and Florence,” Eddie was smirking.

That bastard.

“You are ridiculous, you know that? I’m over here planning how I’ll survive a breakup with you and you fly across the country to propose with a honeymoon planned before I’ve even said yes! You know how crazy that sounds, right?” Steve shook his head. “You’re lucky I love you. You’re lucky I’m not interested in big romantic gestures.”

“Damn. Hold on, let me make a call,” Eddie reached into his pocket for his phone.

“What?”

“I gotta cancel the big romantic gesture,” Eddie explained as he typed furiously on his phone.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“It was a whole thing. Robin was involved. There may have been 500 flowers ordered. I think it’s too late to cancel the singing telegram though.”

“I genuinely can’t tell if you’re being serious,” Steve wouldn’t be surprised if at least some of that was true.

“Oh, I’m serious. The ring was being set on the bed in the middle of a heart made of rose petals. I didn’t half-ass a fucking thing, angel.”

Steve pulled his phone out of his hands and set it on his desk. “Don’t cancel anything. I changed my mind. I am very much into big romantic gestures when it’s you doing them.”

“It was a team effort. I mean, I had to move it all up unexpectedly, but this was all gonna happen next month when I came home." Eddie pulled Steve into a long kiss, tongue tracing his lips. He pulled away to rest their foreheads together. "I'm not doing this just because of what happened, but I need you to know you're it for me. You've stuck by me through failing senior year, through being broke trying to book gigs all over the midwest, through the stress of our first album being released and the unexpected overnight fame, every album and tour since then, every time I've had to miss things that matter to you because of the band, all of it. You love me anyway. I don't always deserve it, but I'm grateful."

Steve's lips pressed against Eddie's again. "I love the life we have. I love you."

"I'm not asking you without the ring. I made so many plans. Robin will murder me in my sleep if I don't go through with them," Eddie laughed. "So can we get out of your classroom before I do something inappropriate and get you fired?"

"I mean," Steve glanced at the clock. "Technically all the students should be gone. We could lock the door..."

"Steven Harrington! How dare you suggest I fuck you over your desk in a school! I can't believe you would tell me to unbutton your jeans," he said as he unbuttoned his jeans. "And get on my knees." He got on his knees. "And suck you until you can't stand anymore."

"Eddie!" Steve chuckled, shoving his hand in Eddie's hair. "We should at least lock the door."

"So you're not saying no?"

"Why would I say no?"

"That's what I'm saying!" Eddie got back up and ran to the door, flipping the lock and turning back to Steve with flushed cheeks. "This is like, maybe three of my biggest fantasies in one, so I may actually come in my pants."

"You're ridiculous."

"Baby boy, my hand is my only friend on tour, you know that. How can I possibly hold myself back when I've got your dick in my mouth?" Eddie dropped to his knees again, looking up at Steve with something close to reverence.

"It's not in your mouth yet," Steve smirked as he tugged his waistband down enough to free his cock.

"Oh, I missed you," Eddie said directly to Steve's hard cock. "Steve, I want you to fuck my mouth until I pass out."

"I'm not doing that."

"Okay, well I'll settle for until I have to tap out."

"Fine. But it's not gonna be long for me," Steve shook his head. "Missed you, too."

"The sooner the better, sweetheart."

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddielovemonth #love is saying you're sorry #angst with a happy ending #established relationship #hurt/comfort #rock star eddie munson #teacher steve harrington #arguing #modern au #marriage proposals

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simp-ly-writes · 3 months

Text

Office Love (pt.1)

What if Vox had an assistant that soon became more than that?

Pairing: Vox x assistant!Reader

Warnings: some suggestive content near the end and canon-typical language.

A/N: something different to what I usually write- hope you enjoy!

Masterlist | Taglist | edited.

Hazbin Hotel Masterlist (PT.2) (PT.3)

↳ When the application advertisement first flashed against your social media feed- you clicked past it very quickly before one of your friends was ushering you to apply. They had been working with the V's for a number of years now and produced a plethora a fan-favorite shows

↳ When you application got accepted and you were being thrown into a suit for the interview, you were all the more thankful when the overlord themselves were not hosting yet the managers were. A more than few warning here and there- but that was with every job you worked in hell. You didn't work hard enough, you were better off dead- simply put.

↳ You did not often see your boss in person after signing the contract with him day one. Only emailing him his schedule that was often cancelled mid-way through the day and you were running out of excuses for his clients

↳ Velvette and Valentino were often more intimidating that Vox. You had gotten used to his tantrums, PR nightmares, and televised cancellations that were often fixed with a light bit of hypnotization that you could only roll your eyes at before going back to your emails

↳ You would memorize his every need, knowing his favorite meals and coffee preferences, when he needed to recharge and even how to text exactly like him. You kept track of every social media handle that held his name, growing his followers while riffing on Alastor- an action that Vox dearly appreciated

↳ As time would progress, you would become too good at your job. So much so that his other six assistants had all gotten fired for lack of polish as Vox excused it. Clinking his coffee mug to yours sat at your desk. He hardly used his own office these days, often taking calls at your computer as you sat on your desk- off to the side as you rearranged his schedule once again

↳ You were starting to become his shadow and he always noticed when you were gone for a minute too long. He liked the reassurance your presence brought him- he enjoyed knowing that you would always know what to say in order to benefit the company and find ways for him not to interaction with people he disliked

↳ Velvette and Valentino noticed this as well- how close you had gotten to their business partner without a second thought. Sometimes you would even show up in replacement for Vox when one of their branches had gone down once again and often times they wished it was you that addressed the problem rather than the man himself

↳ When a reality show comes out, highlighting the lives of overlords all over the city including the three V's (mostly them though for PR that they desperately needed and had made multiple comments on). It did numbers and your friend from earlier could not have been happier getting that promotion to head producer of the show

↳ You soon became a fan favorite for your witty comebacks at the TV head as he wold only smile in return- liking that you had the heart to knock him down a few pegs. The fans would stalk everyones social media profiles, liking each image that had you just cropped out of it

↳ Vox had insisted that you were not to be seen in any of the media production- something about no wanting to corrupt your mind as well. You could only shake your head at this information- all you ever did was stare at screens all day, this comment made Vox's box go pink as his speech buffered. Taking a second to rethink your wording, your cheeks had appeared red while the cameras rolled and money starting pouring in

↳ The fans demanded more attention put towards you, screaming at you from behind the barricades as you walked the corporate building each morning. "CAN I GET A PICTURE WITH YOU," "I SHIP IT," "WORK FOR ME INSTEAD." They started to shove one another over, trying to get your attention as your feet picked up pace

↳ Vox had made his way through the wires and various security cameras settled around the neighbourhood. He wrapped an arm around your waist, ensuring that when the barricade fell and you were swarmed that you would not be dragged away with the crowd

↳ You voiced your thanks once safely in the building as Vox announced a surprise for your recent good work- this was their most profitable quarter yet and you would have Velvette tailored work to wear each day. Picking up the various blue suits you eyed them suspiciously to those of your boss. Vox only shrugged his shoulders before taking a call

↳ The dating allegation grew every week as blushed heavily at the headlines, Vox who now was only found in your office asked what was making you have such a reaction, even when he was in the middle of a meeting. You quickly hid your screen as he could only chuckle, sparking it back to life and projecting it on the monitor

↳ "Oh, so THIS is what has you all red- me is it?" Vox states with pride, leaning over the table and into your personal space as your blush only grows down your neck. You take a sip of your now cold coffee, hiding a wince as you get back on track with answering Valentino back

↳ When you arrive the next morning, dead flowers are found on your desk that make you chuckle, you read the note with a smile before handing the TV man his coffee for the morning, your chairs right beside one another as you work in tandum

↳ Years into your work now, you barley find yourself going home, choosing to stick for the V's movie nights together that they insist on you being present for alongside finding it easier to let Vox know of scheduling changes last minute from within your shared apaprtment

↳ After much demand, you and Vox have a one on one livestream interview for the public within your apartment, you both make small touches to one another, fixing his tie, he holds your knee, rubbing circles with his thumb- the fans are losing their shit as the other to V's sit back and rake in the cash

↳ A question about your work ethic and sex-worker allegation gets read out by Velvette that has Vox glitching out with rage as you pull on the back of his jacket, urging him to calm down as you loop your arm in his, leaning into his side, "run that by me one more time, Velvette," Vox states with a twitch as you blink your eyes towards her- pleading that she does not.

↳ After a particularly good corporate event, you find yourself in Vox's bed as he urges you not to leave, his voice is merely murmurs in your ear as you do not have the heart to roll away from. Soon these off hand-nights become a more common occurrence that as Valentino the slitest bit jealous at first, but when he surprises you in the mornings with a new package that got sent to the wrong apartment, he cannot help put wink at seeing the marks on your skin

↳ You and Vox never made anything official, you were still his assistant of course- his assistant that he would always have a hand on a bit too low for public attention. A worker who was NOT allowed to be asked on a date by someone else. And the person he jumped to protect against the smallest threat but against your name

(PT.2) (PT.3)

↳ Taglist: @jtcat305 @amarokofficial

#hazbin #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #vox x you #vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #vox x y/n #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel vees #simp-ly-writes #simp-ly

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spitdrunken · 3 months

Text

i keep thinking about essentially being like. velvette's 'charity case' model and how your relationship develops from there.

notes: fem!reader, velvette calls you ugly LMAO, beyond that... no warnings, really. surprisingly the most healthy vee relationship ive written yet!

velvette's typical models all look similar, reminiscent of the modeling industry back when you were alive. tall, skinny and, more important than anything else, human-looking. most of them could pass for humans in a costume.

you… do not. you just didn't get quite that lucky with your demon form! really, you can say that the vast majority of people drew the short end of the stick, at least by the kind of standards that people like velvette set. maybe you're a bat, with a snout you've deemed as pig-like taking up most of your face. or a sheep, your single-slitted, dead eyes making even you uncomfortable. perhaps you're more formed after an object than what you would consider a person, or plant-like in nature! in any regards, due to the way lucifer chose to have you reborn you firmly do not fall within hell's beauty standards.

all of that means you were absolutely not expecting to be accepted when you went ahead and applied to a job with someone as famous and perfectionistic as velvette. it had started as a joke, really. you'd posted a purposefully horrible picture of yourself on vitter, with a stupid caption like; "do u think that :skull::heart: would kill me for submitting to open casting looking like this lmaooooo" (you have to use emojis to talk about the vees, as the socials owned by them are notorious for taking anything remotely negative down.)

and unexpectedly, your post randomly did some pretty big numbers, with people egging you on and some practically begging to tell you what kind of insults she would sling at your head. you saw some people copying your original as well.

so you're like! whatever!!! you don't think that you'd even get through the application process, much less velvette herself. nothing will end up happening, so, who cares? but then, somehow, despite everyone and their mom wanting to model for velvette, you get… through? and you even get an interview scheduled with velvette herself?

she takes one look at you as you walk in, and just goes: oh my god. this really is grim. and you're hardly seated, before she continues. look, i don't have the time for niceties, and introductions are entirely unnecessary. i'm sure you already know this, but you're not here because of your looks.

yeah. you figured that. …i guessed so. but i'm still sitting here. so, why?

instead of getting a real answer, you're shuffled off into a shoot, different outfits flashing on top of your body, faster than you blink, velvette's face settled into a scowl, till it suddenly lights up. it doesn't go… super well, you've never really done this and, if you had, velvette's attitude surely wouldn't help. you never really get clarity as to why you're being hired, when a contract is shoved in front of you.

(the reality of the situation is that velvette had seen you trending, not trending-trending, but still a noticable. she realised the demand for someone like you, a 'relatable' every-demon being thrust into this new world, and documenting it online. her company can claim they accept 'all kinds of demons', and some poor suckers will feel less excluded when looking at her fashion, buying it more quickly. win-win-win!)

she tells you to you're face that you're the ultimate challenge. if she can fix someone like you up to in a half-decent model, it just shows that she really is a fucking goddess. maybe you're not as pretty or as used to everything as the rest of the models, but that doesn't mean you don't put in any effort now that you're there. the other girls won't associate with you whatsoever, but you do listen in on their conversations, pretending to mess around on your phone, coming to know the kind of make-up velvette likes. you tirelessly browse online, mostly on vikvok and vitter, figuring out the current trends. and after a while, velvette takes a look at an outfit you picked, and actually says…

this is pretty decent. it won't look good on you, but i can use this. maybe, somewhere along the way, you become more of an assistant or outfit suggestor for velvette, only occasionally stopping in for shoots. velvette never accepted anyone in a similar position to you, even though vox tried her to get an assistant for ages, and she wouldn't have accepted you either if you'd obviously being vying for the position. but you weren't, and your position just kind of naturally developed that way.

your shtick as a 'charity case' has somewhat been abandoned, though velvette still dumps clothes in your arms sometimes and tells you to try them on. maybe you're one of the few people who gets her to laugh, and the only one who she freely bitches to about all of her models. (she does this to vox and valentino too, but it's not the same. they don't care as much, nor do they really know who she's talking about.) she lets you sort through some of the open casting applications and help pick out the theme for a shoot.

of course, absolutely everything you do has to go through velvette first, and she still criticizes you aplenty, but you can't help but feel she has grown… fond of you, in a sense? sometimes, you swear you see her wearing outfits you'd picked out for another model… and while she shittalks everything that moves, you just happened to listen in on her giving a model a tonguelashing for talking bad about you. either way, you've certainly come to like her a lot more. you're now even mutuals on vitter and vikvok! much to the delight of the tiny following you'd grown on there. she even posted a picture of the two of you on there! …that means you've really made it.

maybe at some point, when her company has hit a new milestone and, in a rare slip-up (or perhaps valentino gave her a super strong drink on purpose, thinking its funny) she gets pretty drunk. you end up sitting opposite of each other in a bar, with her having decided on the spot to put some make-up on you, leaning in close to check her work, fingers gliding slowly over your skin. a situation that feels entirely too intimate for this setting, not helped by the half-lidded look in your eyes. …i have changed my mind. she mumbles, slurring her words are little. you can look pretty, after all.

you sputter out a oh really, and you only realised that now?! in order to break the heaviness of the air, the unspoken tension that makes your heart skip a beat, and velvette laughs.

(maybe there's hope for the two of you yet.)

#hazbin hotel x reader #velvette x reader #hazbin hotel velvette x reader #hazbin hotel #velvette #cha.velvette

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taintandviolent · 1 year

Text

In the end of the night, I can feel your warmth. (Kyle Spencer x Reader)

summary: zombies eat brains... not pussies. WRONG. they actually eat them really well. 2.9K words!

warnings: 18+ below the cut!! smut (female receiveing), heavy heavy cunnilingus, s*xual guiding/coaching, praise (male receiving), carnal instincts, unga bunga brain Frankenkyle because it’s a serious problem I have, uhhhhhhh.

tags: @darlingjimmy @petersevans @kaiju-superstar @redwoodghost @kaismanwich @elsamars @thewolveswithin @marylovesevanpeters @80strashbag @iluwmycats @kai-slut @kaissweetlamb @twinkiemaximoff @evanpetersfansblog @spill-the-t @eventually27 @stucktothetwo @kai-andersons-blog @kai-anderson-whore @evansb1tch @viharmonscorner @yesdevineruler @anonymous0316 @enchanting-evan @fuckedbykai @nova-kayne67

ao3 link here! Full link below the cut!! Thank you to @redwoodghost and @kaiju-superstar for yet AGAIN beta-reading and sending me to the clouds.

“Mmmph….”

Three days earlier.

After a series of life altering events, you’d finally thrown your hands up and run away from home. The destination? Miss Robichaux’s School for Gifted Young Women, located in the mysterious city of New Orleans. As you rode the bus, one backpack stuffed with clothes and jewellery clutched tightly to your chest like a child, vibrant images of vampires, witches and voodoo danced in your dreams.

You saw yourself as a plain Jane who had been a little too influenced by the occult at a young age. A typical girl who had grown up on Stevie Nicks and tarot cards, you had never considered yourself particularly remarkable, though you’d always had a knack for making things happen a little too easily. Teachers and parents had always described you as an influential young woman — a deceptive umbrella term that hardly scratched the surface. You weren’t writing persuasive essays or excelling in Speech and Debate, you were sticking your fingers into someone’s mind like playdoh and rewiring it to do exactly what you wanted.

It was that deceptive umbrella term that brought you to Louisiana to begin with; you’d felt unheard, unseen, and misunderstood. You were struggling and nobody had the capacity to unravel your problems.

Cordelia, who was easily one of the most beautiful women you’d ever seen, welcomed you into her office. The interview was brief but compassionate. She’d asked you to explain what brought you to her home, what you felt your “powers” were, and reached to touch the top of your hand when you struggled with that word. She lingered, staring deeply at your fingers. After a moment, she inhaled and spoke again.

“Nothing is silly here. You’re safe. Everything you’ve thought was make-believe or… or childish isn’t. The world runs on magic.”

Cordelia had called one of the other girls into her office and given you an encouraging nod. The girl, who couldn’t have been more than sixteen, had jet black hair, and large glasses. She looked deeply frightened and you almost felt bad when you made her crawl on the floor like a crab before standing up and clapping excitedly. It took very little effort for you, Cordelia noted and wrote something on a piece of paper in your file.

Whatever you’d done, you’d done it correctly. Shortly after that, a girl named Zoe showed you to your new room. She was sweet, kind — the sort of woman that you thought would listen to every side of every story before making any judgements. She used to be a student witch here, she explained as you two walked, but she'd risen in the ranks and become so busy with being the Council — something very important, a hierarchy of witches — that she didn’t have time for the things she used to focus on.

Zoe opened the tall door, letting you step in first. Well-lit by the large and ornately trimmed windows, the room was white, matching the scheme of the rest of the mansion. Sparsely decorated, there were the necessities in terms of furniture and nothing else. There were two beds at opposite sides of the room… and a blonde boy sat cross-legged on the one closest to the door. His expression was blank, but his brows were laced together, conveying some sort of unknown sadness.

“This is Kyle. He…” she trailed off, her voice sounding unsteady. “He died. Madison and I, we… we put him back together and brought him back.”

You snapped your head to face her, jaw hanging slack in disbelief. “Put him back together? Like Frankenstein?”

Zoe nodded, and reached out to stroke his fluffy blonde curls. While he remained stoic, you noticed the tiniest flinch in his cheek muscles. The way she looked at him… you crossed your arms over your chest uncomfortably. There was history here. “He’s not the same. He tries though.”

She straightened out her frown, visibly trying to move on from the memories.

“This used to be my room. But…” She dropped her hand to her side. He flinched more visibly. “It’s yours now.”

Zoe had told you that all Kyle needed was macaroni, kid’s shows on YouTube, and he wouldn’t bother you. For the first night, you conceded with those recommendations because his outbursts overwhelmed you.

On the second night, you woke up to the sound of rustling. Kyle sat upright in his bed, sheets draped over his lap, staring towards the window. You sat up in bed, pulling the sheets up to your chest. He turned to look at you and shrunk away from your gaze, ashamed. He quickly returned to a lying position, like a child who had gotten yelled at. The apprehension you possessed on the first night had morphed into wonderment. A reanimated boy, who despite being pieced together still had some semblance of sentience and emotion. It may have been cliche to analyze it through a Shelley-esque eye… but with sentience, came love. And with love, agony was sure to follow. You’d always been particularly enraptured with the idea of a monster needing love, trying desperately to understand it.

A line from Frankenstein came to mind as you watched him staring straight up at the ceiling, hoping you wouldn’t notice he wasn’t asleep. “I have a love in me the likes of which can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.”

So… what if you satisfied the first? Perhaps all he needed was some tenderness, some attentiveness.

“Kyle?”

No response. You swung your legs out from underneath the covers, planting your bare feet on the wooden floors. In only your nightgown, the chill of the air bit at your exposed limbs, prompting you to slip your arms into the lacy, green sleeves of your robe.

“Kyle? You wanna look at the moon?”

This time, he turned his head on the pillow to look at you. You began moving carefully towards him.

“You want to? The moon?” You asked again, making a circle shape with your hands and then unrolling them to point towards the window. He nodded, showing understanding. Clumsily, he threw the covers off him and got to his feet.

You took one step. He followed, ambling heavily behind you until you both stood close enough to the window to feel the chill that permeated the glass. He sighed heavily, the sound resonating in his broad chest. It was the first time you’d heard any sort of happy sound from him. His knuckles brushed against yours, but despite the quivering in your abdomen, you didn’t reach out to hold his hand. You wanted to, though. Very, very much.

On the third night, you woke up to the sounds.

“Mmmmmph! Mmm…arrr…. Mmmm…. ow.”

You rubbed your eyes, rousing yourself. Instead of being in his own bed, like he usually was, Kyle sat at the foot of yours, his legs pulled to his chest. “What? What’s wrong?”

He grunted again, scooting closer to you on the bed. Although the room was dark, the small night light in the corner illuminated just enough of his face to show the pained expression, the stress in his dark eyes.

“Kyle? What’s the matter? Try…” You whispered. “Are you hurt?”

He nodded. Then shook his head. “Hmmmph… I’m……”

“You’re what? What is it?”

He struggled to speak, but what did come out sounded distinctly like your own name.

Kyle’s head dropped heavily to his chest, shamefully looking down at his erection as it tented his boxers. He lifted his eyes, staring at you from underneath his heavy brow and fluffy locks. Both hands clenched into fists, he pressed down into his groin, moaning.

Oh…. Oh fuck, you thought. Oh my fucking god, he’s got a boner.

“It’s okay,” you reassured. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of… it’s normal. O-kay.”

Poor thing. He doesn’t know what to do…. He’s asking for help. He looked into your eyes with the most soulful, desperate pleading you’d ever seen. No man, even more together than him, had ever asked you for help like this. There was something underneath, another stain on his heart. You could feel it when your eyes locked for a second too long — but that wasn’t important. It didn’t change what you were about to do.

You fingered the ruched elastic of his boxers, scooping it towards you. The taut skin of his stomach was warm, and the heat increased as you neared the bush of hair. Kyle groaned and cloddishly bucked his hips to force your hand farther down. The searing hot tip slipped against the back of your hand, leaving a streak of precum on your skin.

“P……l…eaaasse…..” His chest was heaving up and down, forcing excited little breaths out of his open mouth.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and gripped his cock gently. It twitched against your hand and you felt another hot, viscid ribbon coat your knuckles. Oh fuck. He jerked his hips again as you began stroking, smearing his wetness along the shaft. He slackened the muscles in his neck, letting his head fall onto your shoulder.

“Good? Does that feel better?”

His head moved on you, up and down, so you assumed it did. You decided to test it by going a little faster, and squeezing his cock a little harder. Instead of the guttural, almost pained groans he’d given you before, the most pathetic little whimper left his throat. You lifted your gaze to the ceiling, rolling your eyes back. He was putty in your grip, begging for you with every muscle in his body. And that… drove you insane.

Carefully, quietly… you reached to your legs, gathering the edge of your nightgown into your palm, pulling it up your thigh until you had enough room to reach your own arousal. Wasting no time, you circled your clit slowly, slipping a finger inside between rotations.

“AAAAAGUHHH!”

You clapped your hand over Kyle’s mouth, eyes widening like saucers in the dark. You whispered louder than you ever had in your entire life. “Shhh! Kyle! Shhh!” He breathed hard out his nose. “I can’t help you if you’re loud… they’ll hear you.”

Underneath your fingers, Kyle’s plush lips parted just enough for you to notice. You froze. He looked down as far as his ocular anatomy allowed and his pupils dilated, the blackness consuming the already deep brown. His tongue swept across the underside of your fingers before forcing itself between them. He gripped your hand tightly at the wrist and yanked it down in a startling display of his inhuman strength.

“Wuh…. Want.”

You jerked your head back, confused. “What?”

He brought your hand back up, and like a child claiming that a toy was his, Kyle licked your pointer and index finger from the base to the tip of them. He swallowed.

“Waant….”

Holy shit. You realised. You realised what it was he wanted…. The hand you’d used to cover his mouth was that hand that you’d previously been fingering yourself with, the fingers that were coated in your own wetness. He wanted… that.

Nervously, you pulled your hand from his boxers, the elastic snapping against his tummy. You nodded once and inhaled a deep breath through your nose, a feeble attempt at pacifying the bundle of live wires you called your nerves. Kyle’s eyes never left yours, watching you intently as you planted your hands on either side of your body as leverage to push yourself back towards the head of the bed. You laid back on the pillow, knees touching and obscuring Kyle.

When you opened them, your breath rushed out from your lungs. He was so pretty, the way the moonlight illuminated his curls like an angel’s halo, outlining his broad form. His plaid shirt hung open, teasing at the body beneath. And then, of course, there was the erection. The fabric of his boxers were pulled tight.

You tilted your head down, pressing your chin against your chest. Your eyes were misty, doe-like, and you almost stuck your fingers in his mind to tell him to come to you. But he did it on his own accord and your heart gave an adoring flutter. Coming forward onto his hands, Kyle crawled on the bed to you, and you welcomed him in between your thighs. He lowered himself down onto his stomach.

“Good boy,” you whispered. “You’re so good, Kyle…”

Kyle opened his mouth on your pussy, lapping at it hungrily. The smoothness of his teeth grazed your clit, and the heat of your arousal was unimaginable, burning deep within your core. You’d been eaten out, but not eaten out. Not like this. Zombies ate brains, not pussies.

And yet… you were being devoured within an inch of your life. Every clench brought out more cum, and Kyle was there to drink it up, flicking his tongue from your entrance to your clit repeatedly, until your vision went blurry with twinkling stars. Every time his tongue returned to its starting position, he always lingered and sometimes slipped in, delving into something he wanted more of. He was tasting you over and over again. Your mouth opened, at first giving nothing but the sound of your breath. His lips closed around your clit, his tongue driving up into your entrance, and a high pitched whine clawed its way out of your throat.

And just like that, the pleasure was gone. Kyle pulled away, panicked.

“Bad?!”

You shook your head quickly, panting. “No, no…. Good. Very good, Kyle.”

His worried expression softened slightly, but he still looked unsure and scared to keep going. The sound you’d made… all he knew told him it was that he’d done something wrong and he’d hurt you.

“B….buh….. bad…… sssssound…..”

“Nonononono. Very… very good. I made that sound because it feels good. You’re doing a good job.”

He huffed out a breath, the warmth of it washing over you. You writhed, the backs of your thighs rubbing against his bare shoulders. Bent at the elbows, Kyle wrapped his forearms around your legs, wide hands twitching ever so slightly as they caressed you. There was something overwhelmingly erotic in the way he fearfully looked up at you from between your legs. You drew your bottom lip in, biting down as hard as you could to stifle the moan that threatened.

“Please,” you whined. “You’re doing so good, Kyle. It feels so good. You like it, right?”

He nodded, dropping his gaze to look at your cunt, a puddle forming on sheets below. His jaw hung slack as he went back in, his lips enveloping you fully. His tongue was hot and you were sensitive, writhing in his grip. You weren’t aware that you were writhing away from him until his fingers came to life, digging deep into the soft flesh of your thighs.

You arched your back as you came on his tongue, taking fistfuls of the sheets and tightening until you felt the fibres squeak against each other. Kyle growled into your cunt, pulling you closer into him. His tongue flattening against you, feeling the pulsating clenches as they happened.

Kyle straightened up to his knees, stiffly pulling his boxers down over the curve of his ass. His stiff cock sprung free, the swollen head, red and leaking. He seemed to know what he wanted to do, but didn’t know where to start. You scooted down, pressing your legs further open. Kyle shuffled forward on the bed, the springs creaking underneath you.

“It’s okay, Kyle… it’s okay.” Keeping your eyes on him, you took hold of his cock again and gently guided it towards your wet slit. “I’ll make you feel better.”

He allowed himself to be guided, following your direction. His squishy tip slipped in, compressed by your tight walls. The sound that Kyle made — something between a choking breath and a groan — was the only warning you got that a switch had flipped. He knew exactly what to do.

Kyle sunk his length into you, taking only a moment to revel in the feeling of your warm, wet insides. He quickly found his rhythm, bucking in and out with steady intention as he watched you with half-lidded eyes, mouth hanging slack. His pelvis slapped against yours, knocking against your clit each time your bodies met. The visual drove you insane, sending streaks of hot arousal right to your core.

“Gggoooooodddd….” He groaned. “G-good.”

He picked up speed, and you desperately tried to maintain coherency, nodding. Your nails dug into his back, holding on as tight as you could. “Guh-HOHm- my god. Good, yes. G-good, baby.”

Kyle’s large hands snaked their way to your shoulders, encasing them in a steely grip. He pulled himself into you, harder and harder until you felt an unfamiliar ache in your insides, where he could go no farther. You came for a second time with a high-pitched whimper and Kyle kept his pace, grunting. Your wetness splashed against your thighs as he thrust into you, and when you lifted your hips up slightly, Kyle’s fingers curled in, clamping down on your shoulders with a crushing strength. You held back your cries of pain, grinding your hips against his as he pumped into you. Just hold on… let him finish….

Finally, he released his hold on you, collapsing onto your chest with a heavy breath. Once the vigorous movement had subsided, your sweat-soaked bodies were no longer immune to the lithe, chilly fingers of temperature. Still, you were warm underneath him.

So, so warm.

Kyle fell asleep with his cock inside you. And for the first time in three nights, he didn’t wake up once.

#Kyle Spencer #Kyle Spencer x reader #kyle spencer x y/n #AHS Coven #Kyle Spencer imagine #American Horror Story #Frankenkyle #myfics #ahs smut #american horror story coven #frankenkyle x reader #kyle spencer smut #kyle spencer x you #AHS fanfiction #Kyle Spencer x yn

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sapphire-writes · 7 months

Text

Chapter 1: Welcome Home

main masterlist || series masterlist || next chapter

summary ~ Hired by the elusive Aemond Targaryen, you arrive at Harrenhal House to care for his niece and nephew. Things go bump in the night.

warnings below the cut for your convenience

warnings ~ spooky ghostly stuff, angst, mentions of death, loss of a child, blood, wound care

note: and so begins our spooky adventure! I hope you enjoy it!

banner made by the ever lovely @ewanmitchellcrumbs, ilysm ange!

Harrenhal stands on the edge of our world atop lush, green hills. The God’s Eye Lake is the biggest in the country, more like the sea than any landbound body of water you’d ever seen before.

As the Uber driver creeps along the bend of the God’s Eye, the old manor begins to come into view. A thick layer of fog seems to cling to the bricks; gray tendrils creeping onto the driveway and spilling onto the lawn.

“Are you a long way from home?” your driver asks, meeting your eyes in the rearview as he attempts to strike up polite conversation. You assume it’s because of the rather rough start you got off with him.

“Harrenhal House?” he had asked, face red, eyes wide, “That place is cursed.”

Not exactly the warm welcome you had wished for when you arrived in the Riverlands. Not exactly the impression Aemond Targaryen had given in his email when he offered you the job. The interview had been completed over the phone. His voice was cold, words clipped as though he wanted to find someone qualified and quickly to care for his niece and nephew.

The car pulls up to Harrenhal, tires crunching against the gravel of the driveway. The iron gates were open as you’d driven up, expecting your arrival. Hedges and statues covered with moss decorate the path toward the main house. The car slowly creeps closer. Your driver clutches the wheel as though the house means to swallow him whole.

Harrenahal stands out like a stain against the clear blue sky. It is an enormous manor, with shutters, and brick the color of pitch. The terrifying eyesore of the Riverlands. Crows have made their nests in several of the gables, their beady black eyes watching intently as the car comes to a halt.

A murder.

Of course, you’d done your research before accepting the position. Both on the home and on your host.

Harrenhal had a grizzly history. Your driver wasn’t wrong when he called it a cursed place. But the dead didn’t scare you. You had ghosts of your own.

Aemond Targaryen was a different story. Second son of Viserys Targaryen, whose recent passing was still hot news in the corporate world. Not that you paid close attention, but you’d heard there still had been no decision on the naming of the new CEO of Fire & Blood Co.

The death of the patriarch seemed to trigger a chain reaction of devastating events. If Harrenhal was cursed, so was the Targaryen family tree. Wherever the silver-haired blue bloods go, tragedy seems to follow.

The death of little Jaehaerys is the most tragic of all.

You’d yet to see a child-sized coffin and desperately hoped you never would.

They’d whisked Helaena Targaryen away from the boisterous streets of King’s Landing rather quickly after the funeral of her first son. After her accident.

You didn’t know what had happened, it was omitted from the press. Even the tabloids had only guesses. You doubt there are many limitations to actions caused by a mother’s grief.

Jaehaerys left two siblings behind; a twin sister and an infant brother still too young to toddle. Aemond Targaryen was hardly ready to be a father. You’d researched him as well and read about his ascent up the corporate ladder.

The boost of nepotism couldn’t have hurt, but from what you could tell, as you hunched over your laptop in the darkness of your hotel room, Aemond Targaryen had worked hard for his success. A tragic accident when he was a child left him blind in his left eye, leaving it cloudy and sightless, though nothing more was disclosed online about the incident.

There were other Targaryen siblings; an elder sister from a first marriage, a party boy, and another brother backpacking through the eastern continent. You flipped through countless articles and stalked the Instagram pages of the elusive family.

However, Aemond Targaryen did not have social media.

What he did have, was a marriage announcement, followed soon after by an obituary.

A handsome young widower. Not even thirty.

The deceased wife was much older. You’d browsed through Google images while slurping cold pad Thai, though there were hardly any pictures of them as a couple. Aemond seemed to avoid the press at every chance.

There weren’t many photos of him; just candid shots here and there—a dark suit, a flash of silver hair. You had shut your laptop after that, feeling suddenly self-conscious, as though Aemond would know you’d read about him the first time he laid eyes on you.

Your Uber driver helps deposit your bags onto the gravel, shutting the trunk with a grunt. He turns to you, eying the manor nervously, as though it's a living thing waiting to open its jaws and devour you.

“You be careful, love,” he tells you, nodding towards the house.

“I’m tougher than I look,” you assure, awarding him a wry smile.

The smile he offers in return is more of a grimace, and he is quick to return to the safety of his vehicle. You grab your carry-on and the handle of your suitcase, gazing up at the manor. A crow caws, alerting the others to your arrival.

A group of crows is called a murder.

You walk up to the doors, knocking once, twice. There is no answer. Turning the handle, you stepped into the grand foyer. A large staircase is the first thing you see, though you’re distracted by the man walking down the steps at a leisurely pace.

Aemond Targaryen is more intimidating than the candid photos you’d hungrily browsed. He’s tall, with broad shoulders and a slender waist. His long, silver hair is braided into a bun resting at the nape of his neck, a few tendrils ghosting around his face. Pouty lips, sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and a beautiful straight, pointed nose.

You’d always had a thing for noses.

Seven hells. Stop that. This guy is your boss, your employer.

His eyes. One blue, the other milky and lifeless. The gash of a faded scar running up the side of his face only served to make me more handsome.

He greets you with the title of Miss, the gentle timbre of his voice floating down to you. It’s so formal, as though you’ve walked through a portal into a Jane Austin novel. He doesn’t smile, just watches you, sizing you up.

Fucking hell, he’s even more handsome in person.

The man could be a model if business doesn’t work out for him.

You swallow the lump in your throat as you watch him descend the steps. With his hands in his pockets, and white button-down sleeves rolled to his elbows, he oozes an air of cold confidence as his eyes trace over you. He doesn’t offer a hand to shake, despite his formality. Even when he removes his hands from his pockets, letting one drag slowly down the railing.

“You didn’t arrive with any other baggage?” Aemond quips, the fingers of his left hand uncurling from a clenched fist.

You blink, before glancing at your suitcase, at the carry-on bag beside it, “No…?”

Aemond hums to himself, lips pressed firmly together. His face gives nothing away, an emotionless mask of disinterest.

“No estranged boyfriend who’ll be coming looking for you?” he asks pointedly.

Your cheeks warm at his statement. You should have guessed he’d be direct. He didn’t ask you in the interview about a partner; just made sure you were able to commit to the position for at least six months.

“No,” you tell him, “No boyfriend.”

His eyes, both the blue and the milky sightless, hold your gaze intently before he nods.

“Follow me then.”

Aemond gives you a tour of the house, showing you all the rooms you’ll have access to. Mysteries are hidden behind closed doors that Aemond doesn’t acknowledge, including a closed door decorated with paintings of vines and flowers. He omits the majority of the west wing of the house which includes the location of his study.

A man has his secrets, you suppose.

What he does show you is the kitchen, along with the nursery and the library. Despite the age of the house, the kitchen is large and modern, with cabinets painted a deep forest green beside stainless steel appliances. A gas stove houses a tea kettle, ready and waiting.

He shows you to your room last; on the eastern side of the house close to the nursery. You follow him down the hallway, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the silence. Aemond has not attempted small talk throughout the tour of the house.

Aemond has stayed silent unless he is informing where he is taking you next, his hands clasped behind his back. It almost looks uncomfortable, the way he holds himself upright, his spine straight as an arrow.

“Your sister lives here as well, right?” you ask absentmindedly looking at the tapestries that decorate the hall.

Aemond stops in front of a door, turning back to you. Those cold eyes stoke a fire within you, setting you ablaze with each glance. He is silent for a moment before he opens the door.

“This is your room,” he continues, ignoring your question, “There are extra sheets in the lower drawers, and on Sundays, the housekeeper comes to strip the beds and tend to the rest of the house.”

He opens the bottom drawers of the large oak dresser. A large mirror rests on top of it accompanied by a dark jewelry box. The dresser matches the rest of the furniture in the room; all dark stained wood as though each piece was dunked in ink. A large four-poster bed sits in the middle of the room, the green comforter is warm and inviting. You can see God’s Eye from the large arched window; the water sparkles with the afternoon light cascading across the surface like diamonds.

“I hope you’ll find it satisfactory,” Aemond says.

You turn to face him, standing in front of the window letting the warmth of the sun on your face.

“It’s more than satisfactory,” you tell him, “Straight out of a Shirley Jackson novel.”

Aemond shifts awkwardly from one foot to the other, seemingly perturbed by your praise. He purses his lips, glancing at the carpeted floor. You swear he’s smirking slightly.

“A backhanded compliment.”

“It’s not meant to be,” you assure him, your face warming with embarrassment.

“Yes well,” he says, clearing his throat, “Let's hope that’s how the buyers feel as well.”

“I didn’t realize you meant to sell,” you tell him.

“It’s ours for now, but I mean to relocate to Summerhal,” he comments, “This house isn’t held long.”

That’s all he says on the matter. You don’t ask him to elaborate. You doubt he would anyway, he seems keen to ignore your curiosity. Aemond leads you down the stairs once more and out through the kitchen onto a stone patio. The view of God’s Eye is spectacular, it’s close enough to stand at the edge if only you run down the hill.

A garden disrupts the spacious greenery and you walk beside Aemond, struggling to keep up with his long strides.

“She’s here, she’s here!” a small voice calls, followed by a young girl bursting through the doors and out onto the patio.

“Jaehaera!” a woman calls, chasing after the young girl.

She races down the steps to where you stand with Aemond in the gardens. Cheeks rosy, smiling brightly, Jaehaera Targareyn boldly walks up in front of you. Her blue eyes are wide and she holds out a fist full of daisies.

“I’ve picked these for you,” she declares and you kneel to meet her height, “Talya said I needed to wait.”

You take the flowers from her, pressing them against your nose and inhaling their sweet scent. You’ve always loved daisies.

“Which you did not,” Tayla says, catching her breath as she arrives, “I’m sorry sir she didn’t-”

“It’s fine,” Aemond quips, arms tucked behind his back, “They needed to meet anyway.”

“It’s nice to meet you Jaehaera. I love your dress,” you tell her, and she twirls letting her baby-blue skirt billow around her.

“You’re much prettier than Kepus told me,” Jaehaera says, eyes drinking in every inch of your face.

“I told you I hadn’t any idea what she looked like,” Aemond gently corrects.

You smile, chest feeling warm at her kindness. You tell her your name and her nose crinkles.

“I’m going to call you Miss Gevie,” Jaehaera declares softly, “Because of how perfectly lovely you are.”

“Someone’s been practicing their High Valyrian,” Aemond remarks, “Have you had your lessons today?”

Jaehaera sighs, a very small sound, “Kessa kepus.”

“Syz riña,” Aemond says, a small smile appearing on his face before glancing at you, “You’ll have to meet Maelor as well.”

“Though he’s rather boring,” Jaehaera interrupts, “He only sleeps. I told muña I wanted a sister. I already have a brother.”

Your stomach flips at her words and you glance at Aemond. His expression is stoic, though Talya pales beside him. She steps forward, kneeling next to Jaehaera, who is busy counting the petals of the daisies you now hold.

“Jaehaera,” she says, forcing a small smile.

“What?”

Tayla grimaces, placing a hand on her shoulder, “We’ve talked about-”

“I want to see muña,” Jaehaera interrupts, shaking off Talya’s comforting hand. She glances at Aemond for help, though he offers none.

“She’s resting now….”

“I want to see her!” Jaehaera insists, louder this time lower lip wobbling.

“Why don’t you say goodbye to Talya first,” Aemond says, “She’s been very kind accompanying you here.”

“You’re leaving?” you ask the woman.

“I’m needed elsewhere, this was a very temporary arrangement,” she tells you.

“She works for my mother,” Aemond clarifies, nostrils flaring slightly, “She was unable to make the journey here.”

You remember reading about Alicent Hightower. You don’t see any of his mother in Aemond’s features. Where Alicent is soft, Aemond is sharp; nose straight and long, chin prominent. The word lethal comes to mind.

Aemond has looks to kill.

You shake your head trying to clear your thoughts.

“Can I show you my room?” Jaehaera asks, smiling once more.

“I’d love that,” you tell her, letting her place her small hand in yours and lead you back towards the house.

You glance behind you, watching as Aemond and Talya converse before Harrenhal swallows you once more.

“Miss Gevie,” Jaehaera asks, tugging her comforter up to her chin, “Are you going to stay with us for a long time?”

You stop picking up some of her toys from the floor. You’d been playing with dolls since after dinner and had just settled down to read a story before bed. You smile, sitting on the edge of her bed.

“I am,” you tell her, “Your uncle is working very hard and needs a little extra help.”

Jaehaera nods, taking in the words you speak. Her blue eyes watch you carefully, seeming wiser than her years.

“I like you,” she says softly, “Kepus likes you too. I can tell. He just doesn’t say so.”

You smile at her. Aemond was clearly softer in the presence of Jaehaera. He’d been more pleasant at dinner than when you’d first arrived. Helaena was absent from supper.

“You’re not going to leave? No matter what?”

You stroke some hair from her face, “I am not going anywhere, any time soon.”

Jaehaera scoots down, laying back against her pillow. You stand, pulling the covers up when something catches your eye. You reach under her pillow, removing a doll that was hidden there.

“Who’s this?” you ask, staring at the doll.

It’s barely a doll, more a stick of melted charred plastic, warped from the heat. You can see remnants of legs and arms, the path a flame must have licked up through the plastic; the hair burnt to the scalp. The face is unrecognizable.

Jaehaera reaches up, closing her small fingers around it.

“He stays here,” she tells you, “He likes to stay inside his castle.”

Geez. Creepy or what? You force a smile, letting her take the weird Barbie.

“Okay,” you tell her, “Goodnight Jaehaera.”

“Goodnight Miss Gevie,” she sing-songs.

“You know, you can just call me by my name,” you remind her.

“I like Miss Gevie better, it suits you,” she insists, yawning.

You find yourself yawning as well, and head to bed. The manor is quiet as you make your way to your room, tucking in for the night.

Sleeping in a new place can cause strange dreams.

A bloodcurdling scream tears through the halls of the sleepy manor, its icy tendrils ripping you from your dreams and back into your bed. You awake with a gasp, sucking in air as though you’d been held underwater, just breaking through the surface. Hand clutching your throat you sit up, hair sticking to the back of your neck from the layer of sweat that covers your body.

The house is quiet once more.

Breathing heavily you sit up in bed for a moment, trying to calm the rapid beating of your heart. You rise on shaky legs moving towards the door, and the ancient doorknob groans in protest as you turn it.

The hallway is dark, moonlight shining through the window at the end painting the floor with streaks of silver.

Maybe you were still dreaming.

But then, a low groan begins, the guttural sounds of a mourning mother’s wail. It washes over you like ice water and your stomach turns as the scream reaches its highest peak. Despite the alarm in your mind telling you to turn back into your room and hide under the covers, you race down the hallway towards the sound.

With each and every step toward the western wing, the screaming gets louder, broken up with deep sobs. You quicken your pace, bare feet padding against the carpet as you reach the source. The door you’d passed earlier, painted with flowers and twisting vines is open now, yellow light pouring into the hall from the lamp.

Aemond holds a girl in his arms--not a girl but a small woman; she’s frail, elbows poking against flesh like a starved baby bird, tears streaming down her ashy cheeks. Her silver hair is damp with perspiration, clinging to her face and neck as she clutches Aemond’s forearm. They’re in a heap together on the floor, Aemond’s arms tensed around her as he gently shushes her.

“Helaena…it's alright, it was just a dream,” he assures her, his voice softer and warmer than you’ve heard since meeting him.

He glances up at you, acknowledging your presence but saying nothing; his entire attention is on his sister.

“It’s never just a dream,” Helaena wails, nails digging into Aemond’s forearm, “Or maybe it is, maybe I’m asleep even now.”

A chill runs down your spine at Helaena’s words.

“Maybe I’ve been sleeping all along,” she continues, eyes glassy and her voice hoarse, “I could feel him, Aemond, it was so real.”

“I know,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss into her hair.

“I could feel him…in my arms….against my breast like when he was a baby…feeding, it was so real,” she says, her voice dropping into a whisper.

Helaena’s lips trembled, parted in a silent sob. The hand that does not anchor her to Aemond rests atop her breast, as though she can feel Jaehaerys against her chest even now.

“It’s alright dōna mandia,” Aemond murmurs, still stroking her hair. He rocks back and forth, starting a gentle pace to soothe her, “Go to the kitchen.” His voice is directed at you this time, your eyes meeting his. The tone he uses is still soft, and when you don’t move, he gestures toward the hall with a nod of his head.

“Do you hear him?” Helaena continues, “Running down the hall? Jaehaerys! Māzigon kesīr dōna valonqar!” (Come here, sweet boy).

“There’s no one there, Helaena,” Aemond soothes.

“I hear him,” she sobs, turning her face into Aemond’s chest, “Why can’t you hear him?”

Helaena’s sobs and questions are still ringing through your head as you leave the room, heading downstairs.

You make your way to the kitchen, standing in the dark, shocked for a moment before turning on the light. Helaena’s cries and pleas still echo in your mind as you fill the kettle left on the stove and turn on the gas burner. Searching through cabinets you find an array of handmade mugs, choosing a purple one with a twisted handle.

You rummage through some more drawers until you find some herbal tea, setting it beside the stove as you wait for the water to boil. You tap your fingers against the counter, a nervousness curling in your belly as you gaze out the window that leads to the backyard. You had known Helaena wasn’t well, but you didn’t realize just how serious it was.

You inhale a deep breath trying to steady yourself. It’s shaken you up quite a bit, hearing her agonized screams. Your hands tremble and you press your palms flat against the counter. A door slams from somewhere upstairs and you glance at the ceiling.

You look out the window once more, peering into the darkness. The God's Eye is just a still pool reflecting the light of the moon. A shadow moves behind you, reflecting in the glass and you gasp turning around.

“Seven hells!” you curse as Aemond walks into the kitchen, “You scared me.”

He doesn’t say anything, he just watches you for a moment, chest rising and falling with his breath. He must have also been asleep when Helaena’s terrors began as he’s clad in a black t-shirt and gray sweatpants, silver hair loosely braided down his back.

Ruby-red beads of blood blossom from the crescent-shaped marks on Aemond’s left forearm. You watch them swell into ruby marbles against his porcelain flesh before he grabs a rag on the counter, covering them.

“Are you alright?” you ask, as Aemond sits in a chair.

It’s almost like he doesn’t realize you’re talking to him; he takes a moment to process before he nods. You watch him as he stares at the table, tension rolling off his shoulders. The kettle begins to whistle and you quickly remove it from the stovetop, turning off the flames.

You pour your own mug before moving to the cabinet where you’d found it, retrieving a second. This one is green with gray streaks. Another handmade treasure, you’re sure.

You make Aemond a cup of tea, placing it in front of him before taking the seat next to him. His eye flickers toward the steaming cup. Though he hesitates for a moment, he wraps his long fingers against it, pulling it closer.

“It’s hot,” you tell him, as he lifts it to his lips.

“I don’t mind,” he murmurs. You’d likely burn your lip if you didn’t wait a few minutes. Aemond sighs contentedly, violet eye meeting yours.

“Thank you,” he says softly, “I should have told you…”

“It’s alright,” you assure him, “I figured she was grieving. You’d mentioned she’d been unwell.”

“The doctors say it's night terrors,” Aemond comments, taking another sip, “Due to the trauma she’s experienced.”

“That makes sense.”

“I’m meant to speak with her psychiatrist later this week,” he says, “She’s begun a new medication to help her sleep. I don’t think it’s been doing her any good.”

“Sometimes those things take time,” you tell him, trying to ease some of his distress. He merely hums in response, as though he’s heard it all before. You glance at the rag on his forearm, biting on your lower lip before deciding to speak again. “Do you have a first aid kit?”

Aemond nods, bringing a hand to his face, rubbing the bridge of his nose, and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Above the fridge,” he murmurs, not looking up.

Rising from your seat, you retrieve the small kit, and place it on the table in front of you. You reach out toward him, tentatively moving the rag from his forearm, revealing the crescent-shaped marks. They’ve begun to clot, and you fold the rag into a small square, placing it on the table beside you. You dig for a few bandaids settling for the smallest ones.

“She had nowhere else to go,” Aemond says, more to himself than to you as you place the bandages on his arm, “Jaerhara, and Maelor they need to be with family. There’s no one else. Nowhere else.”

“They’re lucky to have you,” you tell him, pulling your hands away. You reach for your mug, placing your hands around it and letting the warmth seep into you.

Aemond hums, not answering, though he seems unconvinced by your statement.

“I mean it,” you tell him, “I can see how much you care about them. And your sister.”

Aemond meets your eye once more, his gaze softening.

“She is the best person,” he tells you, his voice even and calm, “The best mother….the best sister.”

There’s pain hidden behind the words that he speaks; you can hear it coating his voice.

“She’s just in one of her hard times,” he assures you, “She goes through phases. Not..not wanting to see Maelor…it comes and goes.”

You reach for his hand. In the heat of the moment, you’re not sure what else to do. There are no more words of comfort to offer him. Your hand fits in his perfectly, resting on top of the table. His palm is warm, the skin surprisingly calloused. Your lips part, a soft gasp slipping free at the feeling of his hand in yours.

Eyes wide, you smile softly at him before squeezing comfort into his hand. Aemond doesn’t squeeze back, but he doesn’t pull his hand away either. You sit like that for several minutes, neither of you moving.

“Your tea will get cold,” Aemond eventually murmurs, breaking the silence.

Your hand slips out of his grasp, the sudden emptiness making you shiver. Clutching the mug, you bring it to your lips, sipping carefully.

It’s already cold.

How long have you been sitting here?

Aemond is watching you still, as you lower the mug. He stands then, taking both mugs to the sink.

“It’s late,” he comments, “We should get some sleep.”

You nod, standing. Aemond pushes into your chair, walking beside you back upstairs. He turns toward the western wing.

“You’re not going to sleep?” you ask, unable to help yourself.

“I am,” Aemond says, turning slightly, “I prefer to stay in my study.”

“Oh,” you comment, “Well ... .goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he says before disappearing down the hallway.

You return to your room, lying underneath the covers trying to get warm when you come to a realization.

That was the first time Aemond had called you by your name.

note: let me know what you think! as always, comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated but never expected (though you will receive a forehead kiss from me if you do any of them)

if you would like to be tagged in this series, please let me know!

ACP taglist: @aebi12 | @lokiofasgard12 | @darkenchantress

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#aemond x reader #modern!aemond #modern!aemond x reader #aemond targaryen fic #halloween fic #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #modern au #halloween au

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peachhcs · 4 months

Text

the draft & the night everything changed

hughes!sister x will smith au

the night samy and will finally realize they both have feelings for one another at the nhl draft in nashville.

1.7k words

for the first real fic i’m starting with the draft which basically started samy & will’s relationship! the confessions will be its own separate post & again i’m open to asks and things you guys wanna see in this au! :)

au masterlist | part 2

with all the press and interviews, samy hardly got to see will or any of the boys before the draft. she sat with her family in their hotel room as all of them got ready for the very special and exciting night. will would periodically text her updates about everything he was doing making the brunette smile each time her phone buzzed on the table.

she smiled seeing a picture will sent dressed in his suit almost ready to head out into the seats. she loved the navy and pink combination—also loving that he took her suggestions when he sent her choices a few months back. samy quickly snapped a photo back of her own dress she was wearing. it was a simple pink and black with a small opening across her midsection. she wasn't sure if it was too little for what seemed like such a classy event, but grace quickly reassured her that she looked perfect.

her entire family experienced the draft three times already, so they knew what was coming and what to expect, but samy couldn't help the butterflies in her stomach for her best friend about to get picked in the first round tonight. will was one of the best players in this draft class and even though she's hardly seen him since they got to nashville, she knew he was feeling all of the emotions.

her phone buzzed again meaning will texted her back.

will

wow you look gorgeous

his text immediately caused a blush across samy's cheeks. her head spun around making sure none of her family saw her red face before quickly sending a text back.

samy

i'll see you out there :)

the nauseating feeling in samy's stomach had been there for days. anytime she thought about will, her heart raced. she started getting excited anytime her phone buzzed hoping it was her best friend texting her back. it was..it was a weird feeling. she's never felt that way whenever will texted. at least not since the beginning of april. she didn't know what it meant nor did she really want to know because maybe deep down, she did know.

after another ten minutes, samy followed her family into the arena. there was so many people pushing past them trying to find their seats or quickly interview the draft prospects before they got seated. mrs. hughes led the way in attempt to find anyone they were sitting with. samy's stomach was doing flips with the amount of people shoving and pushing past her. she knew the draft always went crazy, but she forgot just how crazy it really was. luke's draft in the comfort of their own home two years ago was much better than the chaos inside the arena.

"samy!" someone called her name. the girl quickly spun around trying to find the source when she saw gabe's tall figure waving his hands at her. she tugged on her parents' arms and motioned towards him.

he quickly pushed his way through the crowd until he reached the family. samy was immediately brought into a hug once she was close enough.

"hey, god, this is insane." gabe laughed a little as the rest of his family came up behind him.

"i know, how are you feeling?" samy wondered and admired his fun suit.

"nervous..really nervous." the dark-haired boy admitted.

the brunette’s face softened out as she brushed down his suit jacket. “whatever happens in there is meant to happen. it's gonna be good,” samy reassured.

"have you seen will or ryan yet?" gabe changed the subject.

"i haven't seen either of them since we got here two days ago." samy said with a small frown.

"will should be coming in soon. he was a few people behind me i think." just as gabe said that, samy spotted the familiar mop of blonde hair and will's infamous navy suit scanning the crowd of people.

"i see him." samy said and gabe whipped around to find his best friend.

the girl's feet moved faster than her mind as she pushed her way through everyone to get to will. he finally spotted her and also picked up his speed to meet her in the middle.

will's hands clasped around her back, pulling her into him. the two squeezed one another tightly, taking in the moment and the feeling of finally being together after not getting to see one another yet.

"i'm so glad you're here." will muttered into her shoulder. the girl grinned, rubbing his back in a soothing manner.

the two pulled apart, missing the knowing looks from their families watching them. samy went to hug grace while will hugged gabe.

"it's good to see you again." grace laughed as she exchanged her hug with samy.

"you too, gracie.” the brunette chuckled.

"i hate to break up the reunions, but let's get our seats." mrs. smith said, always rushing people to where they needed to be like always.

everyone nodded and will found his way back to samy's side. the girl wrapped her arm around his. “how are you feeling?" she asked.

"nervous for sure." the blonde laughed. samy smiled, rubbing his arm in hopes of soothing his nerves.

everything about will looked good. his hair was styled perfectly and his suit was pressed making him look clean and classy for the night. the feeling returned in samy's stomach as she gripped his arm through the arena.

the smiths and hughes broke away from gabe's family as they took their seats on opposite ends of the stairs. whatever order mrs. smith had for everyone's seating arrangements was thrown out the window when will insisted samy sat next to him. once again, the two missed the knowing glances from family as mrs. smith gave in and let samy sit next to will.

the absent touches, the closeness, the comments—it wasn't usual to samy and will. they had always been like that, but right now samy was seeing it in a different way. will's fingers brushing across her hand left sparks in its wake. her heart raced anytime he looked at her for longer than he usually did. she just kept telling herself it was all normal. they were usually touchy and close with one another, except this time around samy couldn't get out of her head that something was different. something felt different and she didn't know if will felt it too.

the adrenaline started rising in the room as they got ready to announce the first overall pick. will's hand clasped around samy's with a firm grasp. his face was set and focused, but samy knew he had a 100 different thoughts running through his mind.

connor bedard went 1st pick overall which was pretty expected. he was a very watched player this past year and everyone knew he was probably going first.

as the second and third picks were announced, will knew he was most likely going next. it was all based on the 2nd round pick and everyone held their breaths in anticipation.

“the fourth pick overall for the san jose sharks is pleased to announce will smith." the announcer said.

everyone immediately jumped up as a smile appeared on will's lips. he quickly brought samy into his arms before hugging his parents and sisters. his mom took ahold of his suit jacket as he took it off and made his way down to the stage. gracegrabbed samy's hand, a smile on both of their faces as they watched will put on his new jersey. blue was definitely his color and samy couldn't be prouder of her best friend.

ryan and gabe weren't far after will. samy exchanged hugs with both of the boys as she watched them make their way down to the stage like her brothers did so many years ago.

everyone knew the boys had a bunch of press to do, so they wouldn't ben seeing them until after. samy tried easing her racing mind by talking more with grace and ryan's girlfriend for the time being until she couldn't take her racing thoughts anymore and needed to use the bathroom.

the girl stared at herself in the mirror trying to make sense of why she couldn't stop thinking about will and why her heart clenched every time she saw him. she didn't get it. he was her best friend. she's seen him as a brother for as long as she could remember. why was she suddenly seeing him so differently? why did he make her heart race and her palms sweaty?

samy gained the courage to go back out with everyone. she made her way through the arena when someone called her name. the girl spun around, recognizing the voice from a mile away. will was racing towards her still in his new jersey.

she threw herself into his arms as they hugged one another tightly.

"so proud of you willie." samy said into his shoulder.

"god, this feels so surreal. i don't think i've even processed it yet." will laughed a little as he pulled back some but kept his hands on her waist.

"what did i say? i knew the sharks would take you." the girl laughed as she thought about her predictions for all the boys she made months ago. will smiled, a small blush forming on his cheeks.

"thank you for being here. it..it really means a lot." will said softly. samy smiled and that time as will stared at the girl in front of him, it all fell into place.

the two felt the pull. they felt the racing hearts and the touches. will's gaze never left samy's as her heart beat a bruise into her chest seeing him look at her like that. will's heart was doing the same as samy stared back at him, uncertainty crossing into her features as they stayed like that until someone else's voice broke them apart.

"will!!" it was grace racing towards them with their families hot on her tail. samy and will quickly broke apart just as his older sister reached him and brought him into another loving hug.

samy stepped back, smiling at the sibling’s exchange all while will never took his eyes off of her.

#hughes!sister x will smith au #samy hughes #samy x will #will smith x oc #will smith imagine #will smith hockey #boston college hockey #boston college #umich imagine #umich hockey #gabe perreault #ryan leonard

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shoyogun · 2 months

Text

vocal

timeskip! ushijima wakatoshi x f!reader

w/c: 1.4k

genre: smut, slice of life-ish

warnings: nsfw, petnames (baby, angel, honey), slight ddgg, watersports, creampie, not proofread(sorry T-T)

a/n: first smut post!! hope you like it!!! let me know if I missed any warnings

outside of your little “couple bubble,” anyone with eyes and ears would describe ushijima wakatoshi as quiet and reserved. he keeps to himself and appears as a man who only lives and breathes volleyball. at least that’s what the press says because they can never get an interview with him before or after a game.

you, on the other hand, have the privilege to actually hear how vocal he is.

he rushed home as soon as he could after a particularly exquisite game. kageyama’s sets were perfect and ushijima’s spikes landed every single time. when the game ended, he was high on adrenaline and all he wanted was you.

the amount of time it took for him to gather his belongings, walk to the parking lot, and drive back to your shared home was much too long. he couldn’t wait to walk through that door and see you in nothing but his jersey and your favorite pajama shorts, as per your game day rituals.

after tripping up the stairs and fumbling the keys a little, he finally got that damned door open, and before he could call out for you or take his shoes off, he felt you jump into his arms. when he caught you, his hands settled on the softness of your ass and he began to slowly knead–need.

“congratulations, baby,” you started and then followed by trailing soft kisses up his neck.

“thank you, baby. couldn’t have done it without you, though.” he finished saying that last part by giving your ass a hard squeeze.

“i s’pose, i s’pose,” you reply smugly before finally planting a kiss on his lips; the prize for true champions, he believes.

as he deepens the kiss, he also manages to pop his shoes off with his heels and lead the pair of you to the bedroom. you take the time to run your hands up and down his torso, some of his most sensitive parts. wakatoshi is not the whimpering or whining type, of course not, but he’s a hummer and is never scared to let a hmm or haaah out while you take your sweet time just touching him. and you haven’t even gotten under his shirt yet.

when the pair of you finally arrive in the bedroom, he lays you gently on your bed and begins working on your neck with sucking and biting. while his lips pay attention to your neck, his hands busy themselves with your tits, coming up and alternating between lightly and hardly squeezing the flesh.

“fuck, baby. missed you s’ much,” he says into your ear. you laugh at that a little because you really just haven’t seen him since that morning.

“missed you, too, toshi,” you reply before using your hands to bring his face back in front of yours to kiss him. he’s careful when moving more on top of you, and is strategic when he places his knee between your thighs, slowly grinding into you. ushijima kisses you through your moans, and as if this weren’t enough stimulation for you, the hands you had forgotten were on your tits start moving again, but this time to pinch and tease at your pert nipples. he knew he was doing a good job at making you feel good because you were having a hard time kissing him back.

on other days, you two would take more time with the foreplay, but as soon as ushijima utters, “need to be inside, angel” you quickly take your clothes off and help him with his, telling him to “hurry up and put it in, daddy. need it.” he lets out a deep groan at the use of the name, because you know how much it turns him on– not that that was even necessary anymore.

he flips you over by your hips and then runs a hand down the spine of your back, with you immediately knowing how he likes it arched, baring your pussy to him. he takes a moment to appreciate this beautiful sight of you.

“you’re so gorgeous, love,” he praises as his hands runs from your back to over your ass, and then to the point of your leg where ass meets thigh. from that point, he takes his thumb and runs it down your cunt. “and so wet too, baby.”

you shiver at the sensation and wishing for more. you lean back to gain more contact with his thumb. he pulls away and tuts his tongue at you.

“gonna take care of you real soon, baby. no need to be so impatient.”

he gives your ass a quick spank before positioning his length at your hole. he’s sure to move inside slowly, giving you enough time to adjust. no matter how many times you guys have had sex, you will never ever get used to that delicious burn when he first puts it in.

“aaanhng so– good, daddy,” you praise him.

“yeah? that good for you, baby?”

“mhm,” you hum.

he gives your ass a hard spank. “oh, you know better than that, angel.” spank

you jump up at the feeling of him slapping your ass, before responding, “yes, daddy.”

ushijima begins to move faster and harder into you, getting lost in the feeling of your pussy. he’s so focused he has a vice grip on both of your hips. wanting to feel more of you, he reaches for the front of your neck and brings you up so your back is flush with his chest. he gives your neck a couple kisses before continuing his exploration of your body. he keeps his left hand on your stomach to keep you still, but his right hand is grasping your breast, fondling it before pinching and twisting your nipple between his pointer and thumb. he has to remember to give these more attention next time.

it’s not long before his hand travels more south until he’s rubbing at your oh-so-swollen clit. you’re a moaning mess at this point, not even able to speak. it doesn’t help that he decides to flip you back over onto your back, and have your legs come over his shoulders, as he starts pistoning in and out of you, still sure to keep contact with your clit, knowing that’ll push you right over.

“fuuuu…daddy– g’na make a mess,” you tell him.

“i know, baby. be a good girl and let it all out, ok?”

only moments after are you squirting on his dick.

“haaah that’s it. you’re such a good girl, angel,” he says without stopping. “i’m gonna cum soon, ok baby? can you keep going for me?” you respond with a nod.

he lowers your legs from his shoulders and has you settle them around his waist. the pace he continues to go at is still relentless as he chases his high, and it’s enough for you to cum another time. when his rhythm becomes sporadic and he’s grunting and moaning into the air, he asks so prettily, “oh baby can i please cum inside?” i mean how could you say no when he asks so nicely? still unable to speak, your reply is another nod. ushijima finishes inside of you and he can feel that you’ve finished for a second time. he doesn’t pull out for a couple minutes, showering you with love and affection, making sure you’ve come down to a good place.

he especially knows you enjoy it when he whispers you did such a good job, my love and i love you, angel and how about i run you a nice hot bath?

he eventually pulls out and quickly runs to the bathroom to grab a warm towel, run it under some hot water, and start your bath. when he comes back to you, he gently wipes at the mess between your legs, placing soft kisses all along the appendages.

when ushijima is done cleaning you up, he carries you to the bathroom where he has to place you on the cold countertop because the bath is not yet ready.

“eucalyptus mint or lavender, baby?” he says, considering the contents of the cabinet

“hmm… lavender, please, baby.”

he adds the gel to the running water and as soon as enough bubbles have formed, he helps you down the counter and into the bath. when he gets in behind you, he encircles his arms around your waist and you immediately melt into him.

“how was the game, honey?” you ask and he spends the rest of the bath explaining in extreme detail the events of the game.

#haikyuu #haikyu x reader #haikyu smut #haikyuu fluff #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima fluff #ushijima x reader #ushijima smut

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genericpuff · 6 months

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The Extended Mishandling of LO's S3 Midseason Finale Premiere (Pt 2)

Alrighty, I promised a part two back in the first part of this analysis, but found myself busy with Rekindled and my day job, so I'm finally sitting down and finishing this up. If you haven't read that first part yet, please go check it out!

CAUTION: THERE BE FASTPASS SPOILERS AHEAD!

We left off with Hebe and Apollo roleplaying that one scene from The Lion King, albeit with a lot less sense or nuance. Literally all the "drama" so far feels purely manufactured for cheap plot progression and tension and it hardly feels authentic. But now we gotta talk about the second half of this episode, where we finally address the cliffhanger that the FP midseason finale episode left off on - Persephone causing winter.

And what better way to kick it off than with a completely off-base Persephone monologue?

Now, what's shown here is actually a flashback to the job interview scene from S1, when Persephone asked to see the snow in the Underworld. But it's written as if Persephone has some intimate relationship with snow as a whole, as if she's experienced more than this one time which... she hasn't. There was nothing "romantic" really about that scene following the job interview, she literally just wanted to go out and see something she hadn't seen before.

But that calls into question - why does Persephone constantly act like she has an intimate relationship with snow when it doesn't occur in the Mortal Realm? She even says in the honeymoon episode that it's hot all the time in the Mortal Realm, and the temperature only drops every now and then during rainy days... and she somehow makes this about Hades when it literally has nothing to do with him lmao Persephone monologues are some of the worst /r/im14andthisisdeep moments in the series because she's constantly using word salad to describe feelings we never saw or scenes that never happened.

And this scene is no different. She says that snow is something that's interwoven with her most 'treasured moments' but all the visuals have to show for is that one scene from S1 that, again, didn't even come across as a 'treasured moment', it was just her seeing the snow for the first time, there was nothing 'romantic' about it in a vacuum. All the moments from the series you could call ACTUALLY TREASURED milestones of Hades and Persephone's relationship - and Persephone's supposed "love" for the Underworld - are scenes where snow was completely absent (ex. the scene of Persephone and Hades talking about Sicily in Zeus and Hera's garden, Persephone and Hades spending the night in the cabin during the trial arc, etc.)

But then, to make it even more confusing, she goes on to describe her losing her powers and causing winter a "betrayal". As if the concept of winter owes her anything. As if Erebus owes her anything.

The allusion to Erebus itself in the visuals implies that she feels "betrayed" over this happening, as if it wasn't made ABUNDANTLY CLEAR TO HER that she would have to sacrifice something. She's gone SO LONG without knowing or caring about what she could have possibly given up, that by the time it finally revealed itself, she's acting all shocked Pikachu because there's finally something she can't just have. Everything that could make her seem imperfect has been washed away, from her SA trauma to those pesky green hands. Now we finally ARE seeing her affected by her own choices and she's basically waxing poetic about how sad it is that her actions have consequences.

That said, she does seem to have a moment of self-awareness here... but I can't be confident it will actually amount to anything seeing as how all the past attempts at 'growth' have been overshadowed by her vanity and ego.

This line is really confusing / weird in the way that it's written but I think she's trying to say that the source of the cold is from her, she can't pin it on any sort of 'big bad' like she could with Apollo and Kronos. It's just her.

And again, this could be a moment of realization for her that her actions are her own regardless of whatever she wants to pin it on-

But she rejects it instead. She's still not capable of acknowledging that her choices affect others, that her actions have consequences, that she's finally paying the price for something she knew had a cost.

If this were any other comic, I would accept her rejection of this, I would have confidence in knowing she may recognize it eventually. But this is LO and we're three seasons in, she's technically already gotten her happily ever after in the form of becoming Queen and married to her 'true love', so all of this feels like a very last-minute attempt to paint Persephone as this "struggling" character. But she's not "struggling", she's just finally experiencing karma catching up to her and as expected for a person like Persephone, she's already cracking under the pressure of realization that she can't have everything she wants.

Again, in any other comic, this would feel satisfying or endearing to see her fall on her own sword, but to me it just feels frustrating in the context of LO because we've spent five years seeing her get everything she wants with barely any real struggle that wasn't manufactured - with all of it painted as a GOOD THING - while still getting away with treating the people around her like shit.

And when I say she rejects this concept of having humility, I don't just mean through her monologuing, but also through her actions.

If I were to critique LO the same way I would an actual functional series, I would say that this should be the point of realization, the point where we see her crumble under the weight of her not being perfect, not being able to "fix" everything. It all stems back to her entitlement as a bratty main character, someone who can't fathom not being the main character or the "hero".

Because she's not the hero. Demeter is - or at least, she tries to be.

Again, it's hard to know if this is intentional or if this is yet another attempt to present Demeter as an "overbearing mom", but Persephone here looks and sounds like she's been reduced back to the state of a child crying for her mother in the face of her own failures. Despite now technically being a mother herself (through literal babynapping sigh) Persephone is still not a mature adult. Aging her up 10 years and giving her a husband and baby will not make her an actual functional independent adult who's capable of taking care of themselves or making the right decisions... unlike Demeter who is still, ultimately, more skilled than Persephone. She is an actual experienced and mature adult who's capable of rationalizing and decision making, and knowing when it's time to put aside your ego, walk away and let someone else who's far more qualified take care of things.

What Demeter has is something that one can only gain through true hardship, failing, learning from one's own mistakes, and experience, all of which Persephone does not have because she transitioned from a cage of her own imagination where hard work and responsibility was a virtue, into a gilded cage where true hard work can be passed onto someone else whose efforts she could take credit for while sitting on a throne and buying anything and everything she could ever want.

Despite everything Persephone and the narrative claims to have 'earned', she's still a child. The adults have to take over.

And like a child, she doesn't let them.

This is not an 'anime moment'. This is not a moment of redemption. This is immaturity and irresponsibility in its most visible form for Persephone - refusing to let go of her ego and shortcomings to "prove herself", even if it means making things worse.

And Hades enables it.

I want to make it clear there is a massive difference between not being controlling over someone, and actually enabling them.

This is not some small hill to die on. Persephone is literally causing winter, which could very well kill the Mortals. As we've seen in that prior Hebe scene from the first part of this essay, the snow is showing up in Olympus. This isn't something that's happening in the isolation of this single scene, this is happening everywhere and instead of taking the L, Persephone is trying to make things 'better' by simply 'trying harder' which is just not the solution here, Demeter knows this, but Hades is playing the "girlboss" version of a "good husband" by not even bothering to try and convince her to do otherwise. Hades above everyone else should be the one stepping in because he'd likely be the only one she'd actually listen to, but he's refusing to because he has to be the "good husband" who doesn't control the actions of his wife.

So he flat out enables her instead by not even bothering to try and reason with her, to help her see that what she's doing is not helping. Not even so much as a "Persephone, I know you want to help but it's clear something is wrong and if Demeter can figure out what to do to fix this, we should let her", just him saying to Demeter who wants to stop her that he can't stop her from trying... ignoring the fact that he should at least try.

And that's the difference between being controlling and being an enabler. He's not keeping her from doing something that benefits her and doesn't harm him or others. He's not micromanaging her decisions or trying to tell her she's not capable. Now, don't get me wrong, there are definitely things that make Hades a walking red flag especially when it comes to him being a groomer, but when it comes to directly controlling Persephone, most of the time she's doing things of her own accord convinced that it's "the right thing" (which is still just a side effect of the obvious grooming because I really doubt S1 Persephone would have done this shit lmao).

Here, he's not stepping in to even try to reason with her because "well I'd be a bad husband if I stepped in", completely ignoring the fact that it makes him a terrible person, period, to not at least try to calmly reason with his wife and explain to her that her 'help' is not going to help here. Just like when he rewarded her with sex for abusing a nymph in her own home, he's completely complacent to Persephone's actions and doesn't step in to try and help because, according to Wattpad and TikTok, a "good husband" is someone who looks the other way while his life partner does whatever she wants regardless of the consequences to herself and others. "Happy wife, happy life, who cares if the wife wants to be an actual piece of shit to people if it makes her happy".

And thus she makes things worse in her pursuit of "happiness", while Hades stands idly by, watching it all unfold as if he's just an innocent bystander who can absolve himself of any responsibility in this situation. As if she didn't become this way because she ate the pomegranate to be with him and a part of his world.

Now, there's one other sort-of-blatant smoking gun that I want to talk about that I haven't really seen anyone else mention since this episode went up. Granted, this might be me reading far too much into it, but hey, that's what this blog is for and I think it's something that absolutely needs to be mentioned.

Persephone goes on about how her powers aren't just gone, they've been replaced, all she can create is decay, and more specifically-

Now... think of the context of LO's narrative, what it's told us both literally and through subtext, intentional or not.

What does this sound like?

Hades lost his ability to produce children when he ate the pomegranate. He can no longer "create life".

And now, Persephone is finding herself in a similar situation, unable to "create life" the way she knows how. I'd like to think this isn't literal, but it really feels like there's a metaphorical implication here that Persephone losing her ability to create life is meant to be taken literally, that she not only can't create flowers and plant life anymore, but she's lost her fertility entirely. You can go even further back in this when it was established Persephone didn't eat six seeds, but nine, which originally felt like a weirdly random choice, but now seems intentional. I know some people have theorized that it has to do with her possibly being pregnant, but I don't think that's the case, I think it's the opposite - that the 9 months was a metaphor for the 9 months of childbearing that Persephone can no longer do.

And if that's the case... LO truly is no longer a "feminist" piece of work. It barely was before, but if the point of all this winds up being an attempt by Rachel to give Persephone a "flaw" by taking away her ability to bear children... that'll be a punch to the gut.

That said, if it does go somewhere, maybe the point will be Persephone learning she doesn't need to be able to reproduce to have value as a woman. But considering LO's track record with these sorts of plotlines, I can't be confident in the slightest that's where it'll end up. What I can be confident in is that Persephone will likely not stay this way. Like her green hands, she'll likely get her powers back, maybe after the resolution that she's still a real woman deserving of love even if she can't reproduce. I can't possibly know at this point where it's going, all I do know is that LO hasn't done a great job at resolving these sorts of deeper narratives so this just feels like another dart on the wall of bad ideas. Because it's, again, all being framed through Persephone being the "perfect woman", without there being any actual subtext throughout the narrative to imply that this may be a flawed ideology to have, it's just what Persephone has to be and it's sold in the narrative as a positive.

There's one term to describe this with that's rather consistent throughout LO when you peel back the layers of both the comic and Rachel's past work - white feminism. Despite LO's attempts to be "feminist", it's still ultimately being written through a heteronormative male gaze, that women are only "valuable" so long as they're youthful, that any goals or dreams a woman may have should be dropped as soon as they fall in love with a rich and powerful man, and that "other women" who don't fit into that mould of being rich, white, and heterocis are not worthy of love, empathy, or understanding. It's hard to trust that LO will actually challenge these norms when it's been practically enforcing them for five years.

But ultimately, that's a very loaded topic and right now, we don't know where this is going... I'm just not so sure I want to see it after all the missteps the series has pulled over the past half a decade. Like the miracle of childbirth, it's gonna take a miracle for LO to actually stick this landing.

Now, I'm assuming you read this line of dialogue, and you understood it. Yes? You positive? Okay, great. Why am I asking you this question as if you're an infant who doesn't understand what being "passed out" means? Well, you'll see what I mean in a minute.

Now, again, like with the whole "I can't bring life to anything anymore" thought process I just went through, I can't know exactly what they're trying to do here, but Demeter is fully in the right. I want to make that abundantly clear that Demeter was right the whole time and it's pretty telling that even a lot of the people reading the comic in good faith are pointing this out in the discussion circles they can actually access.

Now, in case anyone hasn't noticed, it's clear that Demeter herself is drawing upon the fertility magic of Gaia or Rachel is just alluding to Gaia for some reason. At first I thought it was supposed to be her form of "wrath" until I remembered that (unfortunately) Eris was the only reason for Persephone's wrath, so this is clearly meant to be some allusion to Gaia. Considering the fertility powers were passed down purely through Gaia and Ouranos, this means Demeter is a descendant of Gaia, which... calls into question Rachel's attempts to "remove the incest" from LO, but that's for another topic.

Either way, Demeter is fully in the right here. Hades is a fucking idiot - a useless lump - for not only enabling the shitty actions of his shitty wife, but for not taking even any amount of accountability for the fact that Persephone found out about the pomegranate through him.

"But Puff, she had to eat the pomegranate to beat Kronos!" Did she? Or was that purely manufactured for Rachel's sake because she just had to have an MCU Evil-Robot-Jeff-Bridges villain despite the fact that this FANTASY ROMANCE series didn't need one? The fact that it was written purely to 'force' Persephone into doing something she already wanted to do was completely redundant, it wasn't a 'sacrifice' she made, it was made pretty clear in Episode 165 that she wanted to eat the pomegranate as soon as she found out about it and while that decision is certainly her own, that does not absolve Hades of responsibility for not questioning his future wife's fascination with it or realizing that he unlocked the inner Pandora's Box of Persephone's mind.

And so, Demeter holds him responsible. As she should.

Okay, you read that, right? But remember that line I asked you about before? We should all know Demeter doesn't mean this literally. We have brains and we should all have a minimum amount of media literacy to understand that Hades was telling the truth when he literally said Persephone was "passed out".

We finish the episode on this panel, which I swear to christ I couldn't tell you in all of my own divine wisdom of the arts what in the world is going on in this panel. I'm literally looking at salad.

Is it Demeter and Persephone? Just some dying plants? I have no fucking clue, your guess is as good as mine.

But we're not done. Because we have one more glaring issue to talk about with this episode, and it comes in the form of an author's note that was inserted at the end of the episode. It is truly, despite EVERYTHING we've talked about in both parts of this analysis, the dumbest, most airheaded and egregiously pretentious thing I've seen in this entire episode.

Rachel quite literally put in a fucking disclaimer telling her audience what Hades already told us point blank in the comic - "Don't worry, audience members, Persephone is not literally dead, it's a metaphor for her spring powers being dead!"

I literally can't even express to you how pretentious and shitty this is of her to do. I can't tell if it's legitimately her thinking her writing is "too smart" for even her older audience members to grasp, or if she just wants to dispel the theories that people would want to make about this, or if she completely misconstrued the criticism about her writing not being "clear enough" and thinks that THIS is what people meant. Pardon my tone because I've kept it together relatively well throughout this post, but this is some 2009-era Fanfiction.net level of author's note bullshit.

If she thinks her writing is "too smart" for her audience to grasp, I'm sorry Rachel, but you're just wrong and this is incredibly shitty of you. You think the 14 year olds in your community aren't also reading other webtoons that have deeper writing than LO? I read Death Note when I was fucking 14 and I knew exactly the point of what the story was getting at by the time it was over, despite all the other stories I read at that age that completely flew over my head. And you think LO is somehow more complicated than Death Note, baby's first introduction to the grey areas of morality and justice?

If she's trying to dispel the theories... that actually holds some merit because not only is Rachel notoriously bad at not letting her fandom just talk about their theories without her swooping in to "um actually" them (even if it means killing the fun of theorizing), but the official FP page on FB was closed to new submissions in the hours following this episode and it since hasn't posted any new content. Is it because people aren't posting? Absolutely not. The mods are quite literally holding these posts hostage through the submission and approval system. People are legitimately trying to submit only for the mods to block it entirely from going through. If this is Rachel's attempts at trying to "protect herself" from the criticism this episode has surely earned, then all she's really doing is punishing her own fans who want to talk about it. It doesn't matter anymore that the discussion groups are finally back from 3-4 months of being shut down over the hiatus, they're still not being allowed to operate. The best there is now is the Discord and it's undoubtedly just as heavy moderated as the FB groups.

And as for the third possibility, this also feels like an attempt at Rachel trying to make her writing "more clear" without actually putting in the work of writing a good story. She's undoubtedly seen the criticisms towards LO as a whole that it doesn't express itself clearly, that it constantly flip flops on character motivations and information that has been established, and that any monologuing that's done implies things or events that we've never seen unfold on screen (case in point, the Persephone monologue from the start of this episode) but she seems to have either misconstrued or ignored the point of that criticism entirely by solving it with a quick and shitty author's note at the end explaining her intentions with a scene that was already clearly laid out to us. Instead of putting in the work to write a concise story to explain the things that are a bit more under-developed, she's slapping in a spoonfed explanation for scenes that literally don't need explaining and that ultimately cheapens the scenes that are TRYING to have impact, bringing them down to the same level of mediocrity as the scenes that never had the impact they intended to have to begin with. "You've killed the Goddess of Spring" was plenty clear after Hades said she was passed out, Rachel. Taking the time to explain it in a note at the end is just sad and it really goes to show what you think of your audience, especially when it comes to how you treat your fans in regards to community accessibility in the official discussion groups.

"The haters" didn't set this comic onto the path that it's on or ruin the fanbase experience, Rachel - you did.

#also i stg if she's just redoing the coma plotline from S2 #you can't just go to sleep and avoid the consequences of your actions persephone #wake tf up and take some goddamn accountability #lore olympus critical #lo critical #anti lore olympus

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taylorswiftbutsimp · 10 months

Text

ੈ✩‧₊˚ My Woman

➡ Summary: Your partner sae is displeased that you caught the attention of a Japanese U-20 ace

➡ Genre: Fluff, Crack-humor, Slight angst

➡ Format: OneShot

➡Character: Sae Itoshi ft Shuto Sendo

➡ Warning: ooc, grammar error, a lot of timeslips and flashbacks, sendo slander (ilovehimplsdonthate)

➡wordcount: 1,613k

You watch the scene in front of you go into chaos with someone starting a fight while the others stay back in shock, asking their captain if he needed help with a guy who he put down.

Shidou Ryusei—you know him. He was the person that your boyfriend, for more than a year, chose to play against to defeat Blue Lock. At first, you two went back to Japan to renew your passports.

given that you've been given a scholarship and a fantastic workspace, it would be ideal for you to pursue your studies in Spain. Sae was young when you first met him. Due to his unfamiliarity with the area, he hardly spoke any Spanish, but you could hear him speak the basics.

Your meeting was unintentional; it just so happened that you two ran into each other on the same floor of the building as you passed your cousin's soccer teammate's interview room in the hallway. Since it has been a while since you last saw each other, he contacted you to meet him there so you could spend some time together and catch up.

You scan the room, standing at the entryway. Everyone was too busy to notice you as they threw insults at your boyfriend, who called them ''stupid lukewarm that's lucky to play beside him." A certain male also caught your eye; he was slammed into the table hard by Blue Lock Shidou.

You assumed he was Sendo Shuto, and the one who stopped Shidou from going crazy was Oliver Aiku, the captain. You remember them because you scanned their files while applying for a temporary manager for them, which Sae was against.

He didn't see the point of why you wanted to apply as manager when you could just relax for a moment, but of course, you were stubborn and reasoned out, ''Why not? Besides, we both know you like it''

''yeah I do but I don't like how every male there can talk to you and be close to you''

''saeee~' don't be a killjoy~''

''Fine, But no funny business between us, we keep professional'' he said, rolling his eyes a little because he knew he too wanted you by his side. He then turned to face you.

''Yeah, we both know that~'' you tease as you bite into your tiramisu. Sae loves everything about you, but he was a little upset that you two were still hiding in plain sight. He wanted to announce his taken for good to the world, but you denied it because you don't have the courage to go public—at least not yet.

''woah I thought I was gonna see a book signing club'' you exclaimed, having finally had enough of the racket in the room. As you stood there, everyone was staring at you, and the room was beginning to go quiet.

you swore you locked eyes with sae but quickly shrugged it off as the coach approached you ''ah ms L/n I am so sorry for this how long have you been here?'' the coach asked giving you a gesture to enter

You tilted your head ''long enough to see the action trailer here actually'' You spoke with a hint of sarcasm in your voice. The man beside you cleared his throat and introduced you as U-20's temporary manager.

Everyone is still at their place, like how you interrupted their fight, except for the rose-red male that got slammed at the table, of course fixing himself and looking at you.

the room is quite different from earlier ''what!? never seen a girl before'' you said raising your brow and replying with a sass

''are you single?'' a blonde asked you assumed he was Teppei Neru

Your fake laugh was followed by the phrase "I like this, next question please" as you made a poker face.

What you didn't know was that the red-haired man who had been pressed into the table before had been staring at you with his mouth wide open.

sae peered at the man who was only a few inches away and scowled.

''Have you seen the way he looks at you?'' Sae let out a sigh as he put his clothes in the laundry basket while you prepared a meal for the both of you. ''No, not really; I was busy answering the team's questions'' you said as you sliced the carrot in front of you.

'' I don't trust any of them were going back to Spain after all this'' he bluntly stated ''Well that was supposed to be the plan but somebody wanted to bully his little brother-''

''oh shut up'' sae said his voice echoing from the laundry room you let out a chuckle you he definitely was pissed from today at everyone ''okay cold prince''

''so you're copying him now? what's next him taking you away from me?'' sae said closing the laundry room door and making his way towards you in the kitchen

''Don't be sassy boss im all yours'' you teased continued slicing you felt a warm pair of hands hugging your waist ''Good, tell me if he annoys you I will be the one who will slam his face at a table'' sae let out as he buried his head at the nape of your neck

''Now that's just mean''

''he deserves it''

It's been weeks since you started as the team's temporary manager; everything was going smoothly, and they were preparing for the arriving match.

Although Oliver did invite you over for some meal time together with the team, covering up excuses that they'd pay for it and you just had to join them, of course, you turned them down politely, telling the team you were busy due to the overcrowding schedule you have.

While the team was practicing on the field, you noticed Sendo sweating and gasping for air. You went over to him and said, "Hey, here," handing him a towel as he stiffened and muttered, "Thanks."

It has been like this for a few days; you see him become quiet whenever you enter the room, and he freezes like a statue whenever you ask him something.

''Is there anything troubling you?'' ''No, not really'' he murmured as he stood up and joined the others. You saw him join the others and briefly glanced over at your boyfriend, who was sipping water. You smiled a little and then continued with your tasks.

When everyone had eventually done training, you were putting the soccer ball away as the rest of the team had showers and some rested in the locker room. As you were walking down the corridor, you spotted Sendo and Oliver leaning against the wall outside the locker room.

Ironically, they were likely waiting for someone, and that someone is you

Oliver Snikered you frowned a little, ''There she is our favorite manager'' There was a duffle bag on the side, and you assumed that he was surely up to no good.

He elbowed Sendo and gave him a look indicating, Something you don't seem to understand before saying, "Oh come on now, I won't do anything besides my friend here has something to say."

You exhaled, stifling your drowsiness and avoiding unintentionally snapping at the two of them, "What is it?" you questioned, waiting for a response.

"Well l/n I was…wondering after this blue lock happening I would like to keep in touch with you and take you on a date," Sendo said as he stepped closer to you and his cheek turned red. If you ask him, he was feeling a little nervous.

'' i hope she says yes im really interested on her!!'' he thought while his mind echoing "your gonna mess this up''

You stood there, eye-widening, trying to process everything he said, your jaw-dropping, finally getting why he was always stiff as a statue, and went quiet. Sae was right; he was eyeing you every time he got the chance. Before you could answer, you heard a familiar voice you know all too well.

''how lukewarm'' You turned your gaze away from the man in front of you and towards the one who interrupted the conversation, assuming that he heard it and was displeased. "Sae" you softly called out.

oliver who read the room immediately laughed clearly enjoying what his witnessing ''out of all the females you could ask out you choose my woman'' Sae scowled, pushing aside Sendo and grabbing your wrist, dragging you away, leaving everyone speechless

Bonus: unedited

''I DIDNT KNOW SHE WAS WITH THAT EYELASH PRODIGY!!'' sendo whined at Oliver apparently he was in the locker room with an ice pack at his cheek

yesterday when he confessed his interest on you he didn't expect you to get drag away and he cleary did not expect you were with the prodigy you two kept it casual how would he know

his now winching in pain while sitting in the locker room with an ice pack on his cheek he was apparently hit by a soccer ball in the face by sae which sae reasoned out ''what an accident'' then walked away like nothing happened

''better luck next time buddy'' oliver said patting sendos back giving him reassurance

''what you did today sae was mean he clearly got it I'm taken'' you said as you sat beside sae at the coach ''he needed to learn i couldn't let it go what he said to you yesterday''

''beside it was lukewarm how he tried to ask you out not even making an effort'' sae said looking at you patting his lap giving you a gesture to sit on his lap

#ᗯiᒪᒪoᗯ #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #sae itoshi x reader #sendo shuto #sae itoshi x you #i enjoyed making this lmao #oliver aiku x reader

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cononeillbreastingboobily · 6 months

Text

Stede and Ed really suck this season. Looking back, lots of their scenes were extremely cinematic and/or quotable: the dream sequence at the start, the mermaid scene, the thing about breathing the same air, the kiss under the moonlight, them banging with fireworks going off outside, Ed reading Stede's letter, the kiss and love confession during the fight with the English, and finally them standing together in the dilapidated house that is supposedly going to become their inn.

It felt heavily like style over substance. Meanwhile they spent the entire season flip flopping between being together, breaking up, taking things slow, taking things fast. It led to a severe case of arrested development for both of them, because at the end of the season neither of them really changed, they never talked through their issues which could help progress their relationship in a meaningful way.

I mean hell, Stede is worse this season than he was before. In the past he was self-centred and a bit of a dick, sure, but at the end of the day he did seem to care about his crew. And there he is, being the one to suggest that Ed go back to the ship and the crew, one half of which he marooned, and the other he spent weeks or months traumatizing. And on the same day that the very crew unanimously decided to kick Ed off the ship. Like??

Ed, similarly, seemed so... Confused is probably the best word to describe him this season. And I don't even mean the character himself, but the way he was written. We have established looong ago that he doesn't want to be a pirate anymore, yet after he abandons his leathers, he immediately retrieves them within like one day. And sure, he did it to protect Stede. But then he kinda... Did a complete 180° and suddenly wants to actually go back to piracy? Then he's supposed to rejoin the crew of the Revenge only to then stay on land with Stede with the intention to run an inn?

He seems all over the place, and not in a way that feels interesting or entertaining anymore. I mean hell, the first three episodes of the season were amazing, and he was definitely one of the highlights of them. He was incredibly intense in everything he did, hurting, heartbreaking, wanting to go down and willing to take the entire world with him. Those three episodes were probably my favourite bit of television that I've ever seen.

But then... Stede showed up.

And in the end Ed got reduced to this hollow character that doesn't seem to know what he wants at all, and it feels like it's going to bite him in the ass very soon, and hard. He didn't do any of the heavy lifting of development he could've or should've gone through. Izzy did. And then he bled out in Ed's arms.

What worries me is that DJenkins said in interviews before that ideally the show is supposed to end after three seasons, and (if we get season 3 at all, that is) if that is the case, if Ed and Stede are supposed to get a happy ending together that is meant to feel earned and gratifying, they won't have nearly enough time for it. I mean, they hardly talk about the things that matter, that are important to talk about if you want to have a serious relationship with another person. And sure, they might both feel this intense pull towards one another, but that isn't nearly enough to make it work between them. For one, love sometimes simply isn't enough. And I hope that they realize it in time.

#ofmd #ofmd s2 #ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd spoilers #ofmd critical #sorrryyyy but i realized i still have a lot more to sayyyyyyyy #it sucks because i used to really like these characters #sigh

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lenacosse · 1 month

Note

hiii !!! could you please write about jake peralta, preferably smut with a dominant reader?:)

Successful

pairing: jake peralta x fem reader

cw: smut, dominant reader

wc: 1,541

a/n: hope you enjoy this, for anyone who’s left requests please bare with me. im writing here and there, ive been preoccupied and struggle to find motivation, ive rosa diaz, amy santiago, another jake fic and a james potter fic to come plus any other requests i have coming soon i hope :)

‘i just got some real good news from work boy

you can’t imagine what i’m bout to say

it’s so hard to hold back, baby

i’m so excited i can hardly wait’

════════════════

You nervously fix your skirt for the fifth time, smoothing it over obsessively trying to perfect your appearance. You knew it wasn’t going to change the outcome of your meeting but nevertheless here you were, panicking over the subtle crease of your skirt.

“(Y/L/N)?” Called out the friendly face of the sectary, “Mr Jones will see you now.”

You nod and stand up, you take a shaky breath and continue down the familiar path to your bosses office. Usually you were so confident, so sure of yourself yet this was no average meeting. This meeting would determine your future. You reach his office and frantically wipe your sweaty palms on your jacket in attempt to dry them, once semi satisfied you knock and open the door.

“(Y/N) please have a seat,” Mr Jones smiles, motioning to the seat. You sit down. “Im going to cut to the chase here, you are an excellent contributor to our team.”

“Thank you.”

“These last four years I’ve seen a real shift in our overall work environment, clientele, partners, work ethic and most importantly inner work relationships.” He smiles and gets out a piece of paper. “I’m not offering you the standard promotion. I’m appointing you head of department, this will be a rather enormous change but I see potential in you. You are the heart of my company and it’s about time you get praised.”

You heart has practically stopped at this point, never did you ever see yourself in such a role. It took all your willpower not to crack into an obnoxious smile that broke all professional expectations, instead you politely thanked him and signed your new contract. Getting to your car was a blur, but here you now sit in the parking lot grinning like an idiot. Of course the only reasonable thing to do was call your boyfriend.

“Hey baby, hope I’m not interrupting.” Your voice sounds.

“Nah, perfect timing just done a huge drug bust now we’re on our way back to the precinct.”

“Well done, who you with?”

“Rosa,”

“Hey,” a third voice said, you instantly recognised it as Rosa.

“Hi Rosa,”

“You had your interview right?” Jake asked, diverting the conversation.

“I did,”

“Well? Tell me.”

“I got some real good new. However it’s a surprise.”

“Oh come on! Tell me I want to know already,”

“You really wanna know? You’ll have to wait.”

“Fine. When are you telling me?”

“Tonight. Come straight from work,”

“Cool cool cool. See you then.”

“Bye.”

You end the call and drive back to home, you felt out of this world. Being so young and successful never felt so good, you were undoubtedly a baller.

════════════════

By the time Jake got off work you cleaned your apartment and got real dressed up. After all tonight was no ordinary night, you finish the last of your glass of wine as your buzzer goes. In an instant you buzz Jake in and wait by the door. The door opens and there he stands, wine and flowers in hand. You couldn’t control the shit eating smile that spread across your face.

“Hey you,” you stepped aside to let him in.

Jake handed you the flowers and placed a kiss to your cheek. “So… tell me. I’m dying to know.”

“Is that so?” You wink and make your way to the kitchen, placing your flowers into a vase.

“Yes.” Jake’s arms wrap around your waist pulling you into him, his warm breath on your neck makes you shudder.

“How badly do you want to know?”

“So badly baby, need to spoil you.”

You smirk and turn around, wrapping your arms around his neck. His hands naturally falling to your hips.

“You’re looking at the head of department.”

“Head of department?! That’s great. I’m so proud of you.” Jake gushed, the act making your cheeks flush.

“I get to boss people around.” You grin, biting your lip.

“Bet you’ll love that.” Jake teases.

“I will, but it’s just that.” You dramatically frown. “I need more practice.”

“Really?” He pulls you closer.

You kiss at his neck, sucking softly on the skin before licking a stripe to his jawline and moving to his ear.

“I think I lead you into my bedroom.” You whisper.

“I think that’s a good idea.” His voice soft and gentle.

You take his hand and lead him into your bedroom. In an instant you push him against the wall and begin to undo his shirt, after removing it you go back to his neck peppering kisses all over.

“Get onto the bed Peralta,” you order, your voice dripping with demand. Of course he obliges and sits on your bed.

You smirk and make your way to him, you straddle him and run your hand through his tousled hair. You slowly rock your hips, grinding up against him. A soft whimper comes from him.

“You’ve been so supportive, and so good to me. I’m going to treat you so well.” You whisper.

Jake looks at you, his expression was one you’ve never seen before. So utterly love stricken and submissive for you, the expression itself was enough to get you going but you had to regulate yourself. You press your lips to his, kissing him passionately as your tongues danced together. Slowly you pulled back and stroked his cheek before getting off his lap, you took a second to look at his lap, you bit your lip at the sight of his hard-on. You undone the zipper on your dress and dropped it to the floor revealing your lacy underwear and matching bralet.

“You’re so perfect,” Jake said as his hand reached out to bring you back.

You straddled him again and pushed him flat against the bed. You moved with him and groaned as he caressed your ass and thighs, the heat building between your thighs. You attached your lips to his collarbone, not holding back from marking him. This solidified your presence, the idea of him being yours was enough to cure your problems. You got off Jake’s lap and kneeled beside him, you undone his belt and he kicked off his trousers. You bit your lip at the sight before you, through his boxers you could see his very hard dick begging to be released. You palmed him through the fabric watching as his face contoured in pleasure.

“Please baby..”

“Please what? Need to talk Peralta.”

“Please use your mouth,”

You smirked in response and pulled off his boxers, his needy cock aggressively swinging out. Slowly you put your lips to his tip, you took half of him in your mouth and very slowly moved your head. You swirled your tongue gently over his tip then pulled back.

“Tell me how much you need me.” You teased as you slowly stroked his base, gentle moans falling from his mouth in response.

“I need you so bad, I’ve been thinking about you all day. Thinking about how much- mmm, I want your mouth on me, or how much I need to feel you around me.”

“Is that right?” You taunt, your voice thick with a tone of seduction. Your hand got faster around Jake, pleasuring him more and more by the second.

“Yes- fuck. That’s right- need you so bad.” His voice was a straight moan, a moan which you couldn’t help but be desperate for.

You lowered your head again and wrapped your lips around him, you hollowed your cheeks and moved your head. Doing exactly what he likes, his hands held your hair- only encouraging you further. His moans got more desperate and breathless indicating he’s close. You pulled back and sat up right. You took your remaining clothes off and straddled him again. Your lips went to his as your hand went into his hand. The other guided his cock to your entrance. You slid down on him and immediately started moving, you gripped his hair letting curses of pleasure escape your lips as you gripped onto the headboard. You looked down to Jake who’s eyes were full of pure pleasure and bliss, his desperate moans filled the room as did the sound of your bed hitting the wall.

“You feel so good,” you moaned, sending a chain of praises to your sex-drunk boyfriend. You rocked your hips faster the pleasure building increasingly as you chased that feeling.

You gripped the headboard with both hands as your whole body shook in pleasure. Your vision was spotting and your mind was foggy, the only thing registering was the ecstasy you were feeling. The coil tightened even further until you came with a deafening moan, Jake was right after you gripping your hips as his breath shuddered. Slowly you climbed off him and lay beside him. You looked at him, taking in his beauty, his eyes were glassy and his lips were swollen.

He turned to you with a bashful smile, “get promoted more often.”

You rolled you eye not fighting off the grin that was cracking through, you moved into him resting your head on his chest as your hands stroked his hair. Nothing but contentment overcame you, Jake was home to you and on days like this where there’s happiness there’s no one you’d rather share it with.

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 8 months

Note

Can I please get a fluffy dad Pedro coming home to trader taking care of their sick baby?

It's been a hot minute since I've wrote for Pedrito. Felt good, so good!!

Snotty noses

Pedro was rather lost in his head as he made his way through the busy New York streets after yet another interview. He had declined so many of them towards the end of your pregnancy. Even more, once your baby girl was born. But his management was pressuring him now. He had to make an appearance. There were shows and movies of his that had to be promoted. Especially with him being the main lead.

But now all he felt was guilt because he must have dragged some virus back home last week. Causing you to fall ill slightly but most importantly making your newborn baby sick for the very first time. So to say that he felt like the most shit father ever now would be an understatement.

Pedro stopped at the little pharmacy not too far from your shared apartment to grab the medication you had asked for. Asking for extras of everything. Hating all the little syringes that would help the baby swallow the mixtures. His little angel. Unexpected and hardly planned but no less of a miracle. Truly, Pedro had given up on the idea of having kids. He wasn't in his youngest years. Plus his schedule was still so tight. He knew he would spend way too little time at home for his liking.

But you fell pregnant and he had sat on the bathroom floor for over an hour just started at all the positive tests with you. Happy tears running down his cheeks. Pedro never failed to remind you how thankful he was for this. For you choose to go through the rather ruth pregnancy. Being an absolute wander woman at birth. He loved you even more now and was smitten with the little girl you two had created.

Pedro unlocks the apartment door quietly just in case you two had managed to fall asleep. Dropping the pharmacy bad to the side he kicked off his shoes, quickly making his way towards the living room where he had left his two girls snuggled up in the morning. The fact that no baby was screaming made him hopeful that she was at least slightly better. Had to be, right? The doctor had said that by now she should be showing signs of getting better.

And what Pedro sees is you swaying softly, humming your tune as you no doubt are trying to make her fall asleep. But her tiny little hands are wildly grabbing around as she wiggles in your hands. You turn sideways slightly, jumping lightly at the sight of your partner.

"God, Pedro, I nearly had a heart attack...", you mutter letting your shoulders sag in relief. "Sorry, my love, just was trying to be quiet", he mutters quietly, taking you in. You're still in one of his shirts that you wore to bed. Hair messily pushed to the side. A part of Pedro knows that you hadn't had a shower or a moment to do something for yourself today and that makes him feel so guilty. "You sure succeeded in doing that", You breath out but now you're smiling up at him, "How did it all go?"

"In all honesty, I just wanted to go home. Don't like leaving you two like this", Pedro stepped closer, leaving a light kiss on your forehead, as he embraced you. Noting that your skin was noticeably less warm. "How's our bunny?", his eyes fall onto the little bundle, who's already looking up at their dad with big brown eyes, "How's my little girl? You're feeling any better?", he coos at her, earning a little gummy smile you two haven't seen in over a week.

"The fever is gone, she's mostly snotty", you hum in response, laying your hand down on Pedro's shoulder for a moment. "And you?", he asks within a heartbeat. Your silence says enough. And truthfully Pedro can only imagine what a toll this caused to your body. "I'll be fine", you mutter but Pedro is shaking his head. "Go take a long hot bath, I'll make you something to eat before the evening feed. The pills you asked for are on the entrance table", his words are soft, and caring, as he carefully takes the baby from your hands.

"I'm fine, P", you know that he's also just as tired. He had been taken most of the night feeds. Sure, you both had stayed up for most nights because you both were scared that you might miss something but still. More or less Pedro was the one getting out of bed to change dippers and picking up whatever you might need for a feed. "Don't, my love. You too deserve to take a breather", he gently rubs your upper arm, "I've got her. You go pamper yourself a little. Believe me, you'll feel much better". And of course, you knew that he was right. Sometimes even a little shower can make a huge difference when you're not feeling well. So with a quick kiss on your baby's cheek, you slip away into the bathroom.

Pedro quickly changes into more comfortable clothes while babbling to the rather active baby. He had forgotten how much he enjoyed watching her when she was so active and alert. The droopy, tired eyes had been cutting his heart for days now. Pedro gets the kettle for tea ready. Pulling out a pot of soup from the fridge to heat up once you're out. Already thinking about the sandwich he'll make to go alongside it.

But he finds himself on the sofa almost immediately. With the light weight of the baby pressing onto his chest. "Look at your snotty little nose", he coos, reaching out for the stuff to extract the mucus with and carefully wiping the area, "It must feel so frustrating, huh?" The baby only bubbles in return and Pedro finds himself nodding to the sound. Her curious gaze finds him. The deep chocolate eyes crinkle with a smile as she notices him. "You're happy to see me today? Did you miss me?", Pedro is smiling himself as he carefully runs his fingers over her cheek, "I've missed you too, baby girl. Never want to leave you and your mommy again".

A big yawn slips out of her lips. Pedro moves to rub her back with his palm. She doesn't break the eye contact, trying to stay up and look at her dad but her eyes are slowly betraying her. Pedro laughs a little, "Don't fight it, baby girl, Daddy will be right here when you wake up", he promises. She lets out a sigh. Nuzzling deeper into his chest. Pedro takes hold of her tiny first, placing a loving kiss onto it, letting her tiny finger grip onto him. She's out within seconds. The warmth of him mixed with the calming sound of her father's heartbeat is enough to make her settle in no time. Pedro smiles to himself. Allowing himself to just watch her. Soak up all of her tiny features and the love she can show even while being so small.

#Sunday blurb party 🎊#pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal imagine #joel miller x you #joel miller the last of us #joel miller x reader

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thesweetnessofspring · 10 months

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So @kylorexy made a prompt for an Everlark fanfic a while back of a non-hijacked Peeta being rescued and thinking Katniss and Gale were together. I guess no one's done it yet, so I submit to all Everlarkers this Mockingjay AU, where Peeta was not hijacked. 3500 words, rated M:

“He’s waking up,” Haymitch says, grinning. “Come on.”

Katniss can hardly stop herself from imagining the way Peeta will wrap his arms around her, how good it will feel to have his heart beating against her chest, his breath on her neck. And his lips…surely, after all this time, after the relief of the rescue, of being reunited…a kiss wouldn’t be so much to hope for? He'll be weak still, but when he gets better and they have time alone…Katniss begins to feel a rumbling of the hunger she felt at the beach again, the hunger she's been pushing down for weeks now, too devastated to allow herself to feel.

In the hospital room, Peeta is laid out on the elevated bed, dressed in one of the pale green hospital gowns. His hair has gotten long, falling directly over his eyes and down his neck and over his ears. The rest is horrifying. Katniss clasps a hand to her mouth in a gasp when she sees his once strong body so emaciated and small, the bruises and cuts and burns across the exposed skin on his legs and arms that the camera never caught. Tears rise in her eyes, both in pain for Peeta and fury at the Capitol for doing this to him. And guilt she’d let herself be separated from him, that still lingered in her chest.

A nurse gives Peeta oxygen to clear out the gas they used to knock him out in the rescue. When his eyes flutter open, Katniss can’t wait any longer and sits on the bed beside him, taking his hand.

“Katniss?” He croaks.

“Yes, yes, it’s me,” she says, blinking away the tears, then raises their joined hands so she can kiss the back of his and press it to her cheek.

But his eyes roll in the back of his head and he’s out again, head lolling to his side. The nurse hurries Katniss and Haymitch away, rattling on about the injuries he sustained and the rest he needs.

“He’s just recovering, sweetheart,” Haymitch says when he sees Katniss stare forlornly at the door that’s been shut in their faces. “Give him a day or so to get some energy. It looks like they nearly took the life out of him.”

Katniss’s guilt grows at the thought. It was her job to protect him, and she’d nearly gotten him killed. But he was alive. Alive and that’s what mattered.

***

Peeta’s whole body aches. There’s simply too much it’s been through for him to take stock of it all except for the pain. The nurse puts him on morphling while they give him food to build up his weight again, dress wounds, bind his midriff, and scan his brain for damage. Peeta wants to laugh at that. Of course his brain is damaged. He’s not sure he’ll ever sleep again after what he’s seen.

But none of that physical pain compares to knowing he’s here in District 13 with Katniss and Gale. And that they’re together.

Peeta has to admit he’d felt a brush of hope that Katniss had a little bit of attraction toward him after that kiss on the beach. And perhaps some kind of love when even the pictures of her family and Gale hadn’t swayed her from her decision to sacrifice herself for him. At the time, when he thought it could lead to her death, it had been dismal, but in the Capitol it had sustained him. Had given him courage to film that interview with Caesar, to try and guarantee her safety no matter what was going on with the rebellion.

They tortured him, pain and the anticipation of pain haunting his days in his Capitol cell. Then one day they brought in the TV. They showed him footage, from the woods in Twelve, near the fenceline, of Katniss and Gale kissing. Multiple videos of them like this, wrapped up in one another and in a passionate moment. Katniss had told him during the victory tour she’d only kissed Gale once. But then again, there were six months between that and the Quell. And after Gale’s whipping and her obvious choice of him, how could Peeta debate that they’d kissed more? He couldn’t blame her for it. She’d made no real promises to him and their engagement had been nothing more than the specter of a future Peeta had dreamed of. And she had a right to choose, even if it hurt him that he hadn’t been her choice.

Then, when the rebels came to rescue them, between the time the gas made his body unable to move and his brain shutting down in response, he recognized the face behind the gas mask of the man lifting him up. Gale Hawthorne. And someone on Peeta's other side said, “Let’s get him back to your girlfriend.”

Girlfriend.

Katniss.

His last thought before going unconscious.

So somehow the star-crossed lovers bit had faded. Made sense, given how he’d betrayed the rebellion. Now Katniss and Gale had been able to step out from the trees and finally be together.

Peeta knows it’s only a matter of time before Katniss comes back to see him. She was there when he briefly woke up, though he only remembers seeing her tearful gray eyes, her saying something, but he couldn’t remember now. His body had demanded more rest then.

And by the end of the day, after all of the treatments and examinations are over, Katniss comes into his room alongside a nurse, and with joy on her face, she runs to him and falls in his arms.

“Oof!” Peeta says at the impact.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Katniss says in distress and pulls back to examine him, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Did I hurt you?”

“The ribs,” Peeta says, wincing. “They’re broken.”

She grimaces. “I’m sorry, I’m just–I’m so happy to see you again.”

“I am, too.” And his heart hurts more than his ribs.

“I worried I’d never see you again,” she says. Tears come to her eyes again. “I thought–it’s all my fault, Peeta. I’m so sorry. It shouldn’t have been you.”

He doesn’t know what to do anymore to comfort her, now that she’s someone else’s girl. They have no cameras here to send out to an audience, no need to act. It’s only the two of them. Yet she leans into him, eyes expectant. What could she want?

He can only think of one thing. “I don’t blame you. It’s just what happened. Of course they had to bring the Mockingjay out of the arena. You couldn’t be captured by the Capitol. I’m here now, and that’s what matters, right?”

“What happened to you matters,” she says, still hovering nearby him. “It shouldn’t–”

He cuts her off. He might be mad at Haymitch for not telling them the plan, but he knows she had no choice in what happened. She had been ready to die for him. And so had Gale. He still owed them his life and gratitude for that.

“I don’t want to get stuck on the past,” Peeta says. “Just the one last thing about it–please, thank Gale for getting me out. I’ll do it properly once I see him, but I’d like him to know.”

“They said you got knocked out with gas,” Katniss says. “How do you know he was there?”

“I saw Gale before I went under,” Peeta says. Then he swallows. He knows he has to say it, to let her know there’s no ill will between them for what happened. He’s a better person now than on those train tracks. “He’s a good person, Katniss. To risk his life to save me.”

“Ye-es,” Katniss says slowly, then gives him a puzzled look. Maybe she expected a fight, a final declaration of love, or him trying to win her over out of pity for what he’d been through. But Katniss was safe, and that’s all that mattered. She was being loved by the person she wanted and with Peeta back, any guilt she had could dissipate. Their alliance could finally be disbanded peacefully.

***

Katniss is made to double her efforts as the Mockingjay, and she doesn’t have the time she’d like to spend with Peeta. Katniss visits him when she can, when not flown out to a district or in meetings about the war or in training.

He’s somehow the same Peeta, smiling and gentle and funny, though sadder. She doesn’t move to hug him while his ribs are still healing. And he never moves to touch her in any way, let alone kiss her. The fantasies Katniss had allowed herself to want at his return, of him kissing her like they did on the beach, crumble away again. For some reason, now he can't stand touching her, not even to hold her hand. She fears that despite his grace, he blames her for his torture. And isn't that what Katniss realized herself? That Snow tortured him because of what he meant to her? She hadn’t gotten him out soon enough. Not like he would have. She knew had their situations been reversed, he would have roused all of Panem to get her back the minute he woke up on that hovercraft.

On the other hand, Gale has gotten bolder with his touch. His hand often finds its way to the small of her back when navigating new places and he finds reasons to put his lips close to her ear to tell her something when there’s loud noises going on. Katniss jerks back a little when such contact happens, but finds she can’t push him away completely, not when Peeta is suddenly so distant from her.

What if Peeta never wants to touch her again? The thought makes her despair.

After a month, Peeta’s been moved to his own compartment. Usually single individuals had to double up with a roommate, but due to his ordeal and his still-recovering body, they let him have his own space. Even there, without nurses stopping by every few minutes to check on him, he remains reserved. Sometimes she thinks he’s annoyed at her presence, too, as if he doesn’t understand what she’s doing there. He’s still polite, but not warm like he used to be. This isn’t the Peeta whose arms she can fall into anymore, and Katniss feels hollow the longer he pushes her back, her nightmares growing worse. When he avoids sitting with her in the cafeteria during meals, she knows he’s gone from her. He’s seen what she’s always feared he would, that she is selfish and destructive and manipulative.

After a few weeks, Coin calls a strategy meeting and Katniss is told to go. When she’s there, it’s the usual propo team: Plutarch, Fulvia, Haymitch, Gale. And one new member: Peeta, looking so much healthier and stronger than before. He’s beautiful, and it sends an ache to her chest to see him like this and know that she has finally lost the boy with the bread.

She has to take a seat next to Gale.

“We have Peeta Mellark rescued and he’s well on his way to recovery,” Coin says once they’re all seated and the meeting is underway. “So we’re needing to undo the damage caused by the call of the ceasefire. Plutarch, what do we have for that?”

“We’re thinking a propo with Katniss will be most appropriate,” Plutarch says. “Show the star-crossed lovers are on the same side once again. He can say something about continuing to fight for Panem by joining the rebellion’s cause.”

Peeta stares between Katniss and Gale, perplexed. Katniss feels anticipation at such a propo. Would they have to kiss again? Would he hold her? Pathetic as it might be, the idea of playing the lovers again is both repulsive and exhilarating.

As Fulvia begins to talk about locations for such a propo, Peeta blurts out, “I’m sorry, but don’t people know that Katniss and Gale are together now? It won’t work.”

The whole table looks at him, and then Katniss. But she can only see him and everything since his rescue clicks into place. His distance from her, complimenting Gale, the sadness.

“We’re not together,” Katniss says quickly. “I don’t–why do you think that?”

“I saw footage of you two in the woods.” He raises his eyebrows at her, as if this answered anything. Then, as Katniss worries people will think there’s film of her and Gale having sex out beyond the fence or something, he says, “Kissing. You were kissing. A lot of kissing.”

“Only the one time there,” Gale says. “I’d hardly call it a lot.”

Katniss blushes deep. This is all too much for her. She wants to pull Peeta aside and assure him she's not with Gale. That Gale had only been someone to help her make it through him being gone, her best friend and someone she trusted, but romantic? She couldn’t even think of him like that now. And in all of these weeks, she’s still been missing him and wanting him to kiss her, not Gale.

“Likely a fake,” Plutarch says with a wave. “They can do that, in the Capitol and Three. Make it look fairly convincing, too. I imagine someone who had recently been tortured wouldn’t know the difference.”

“But there was that comment, too,” Peeta insists. “When I was rescued. Someone called Katniss Gale’s girlfriend.”

“They were teasing me,” Gale says. “I got a hard time for risking my life to bring back another guy to the girl I love.”

Katniss hardly registers Gale’s declaration of love in this war room, she’s too busy watching what Peeta makes out of this. His face pinches in, as if in denial of what’s being said. He shakes his head and looks down at his lap and Katniss wishes no one else were in the room but the two of them.

Coin rubs her forehead. “Teenage hormones aside, we need a plan for this propo. We have the boy now, and we will use him to our advantage. I want a new propo in two days with the star-crossed lovers.”

They move on to other business, but Katniss is distracted by Peeta, who doesn’t look up from his lap until they’re all dismissed. Out in the hallway, Katniss grabs Peeta’s hand, and some people, including Gale, make note of it. She doesn't care.

“Peeta, can we talk?” she pleads.

“Okay,” he agrees after thinking for a moment.

“Let’s go to your compartment.”

She doesn’t let go of his hand as they make their way to his quarters, sliding the door closed behind them. As soon as it is, Katniss looks into his eyes, wary of her still.

"Peeta." It's all she can say, full of longing and pain and apology.

"It’s okay, Katniss," Peeta says. "I'm okay. You don't have to worry about me."

And she hates that he's still trying to comfort her, to pretend like he hasn't been hurting either when she knows it's not true, when she can feel how he's trying to cover it up and not be someone to bother over. And she hates that his lips are right there and yet they haven't been on her at all since that fateful night at the lightning tree.

"Kiss me," she begs.

Peeta shakes his head, startled. As if he hadn't been listening in that meeting, as if he didn't remember what it was like on the beach.

"You don't owe me anything," he insists.

"Damn it, Peeta! I've been waiting for you to kiss me for weeks now, just do it already!"

This seems to finally get to him, and at last, he's pulling her in, hands on her waist and they're kissing deeply for the first time without an audience.

That feeling, that hunger, from the beach comes back in one large, crashing wave at the touch of his lips. Peeta doesn't stop kissing her, and her body becomes alight everywhere they meet, from their thighs to the way she arches into him as he holds her up, to her hands in his curls and where their lips and tongues caress one another. And most of all, where she feels him wanting her most, and the hunger is neediest there for her, too.

"Katniss," he gasps, then his lips are at her throat and she groans, her legs giving out for a moment when he sucks on her neck at just the right spot. He catches her just before she does, and if she weren't so deliriously happy, she would be embarrassed by how much he affected her.

"Peeta," she says, pleading but she doesn't know for what yet. Him, mostly. Just him.

He reclaims her mouth as he guides her to the bed, the backs of her knees bumping into the frame and she settles down, bringing him with her and not letting go for even a second. They've missed too much time already.

On the bed, her hand finds its way under his shirt and on his back, warm under her palm. The hunger, the demand for more leads her to tug up his shirt and he obliges by taking it off the rest of the way, his chest falling up and down rapidly as he sits back on his heels. Katniss scrambles up and takes her time examining every inch of him for any leftover scars or marks, her hands and then her lips gently going over his skin, from the palms of his hands to his shoulders and chest to his ribs, which he assures her are fine now. He’s still slim, not as built as before, but he’s returning to how he once looked.

He’s alive. He’s safe. He’s beautiful.

And he wants a turn, too, hands cupping her cheeks as he raises her face up and lips kissing her from forehead to mouth to jaw to clavicle, until she's squirming and removing her own shirt and then bra to give him access to where she wants him. This brings him to pull back, staring at her bare breasts before him.

"What is it?" She asks, self-conscious. Was there something wrong with her nipples?

"You really want this?" He asks, voice in awe and doubt. "You want me to…?"

"I want you," she assures him, taking his large hands and placing them over her breasts. Then, to make her point and her decision, says, "And I want only you."

***

She’s soft and warm underneath his hands, and his first thought is that she feels so much different than the dough he used to knead. Firmer, yet still pliant. His brothers used to make jokes, showing Peeta how to handle a “pair of tits” with the dough, laughing about the different sizes, comparing them to girls they knew. Peeta had blushed but been intrigued at the time, although also not completely trusting his brothers to give him solid advice.

Now here she was, his dream girl, encouraging him to touch her. Telling him he was the only one who would be touching her this way. He couldn’t believe it. After the images of her kissing Gale mingled with the electric shocks they gave him, he hadn’t been able to think anything but that Katniss could never want him, want him alone. It all catches up to him with a blow.

“Peeta?” Katniss asks. “You can…do something.”

His hands slide up to hold her face and he kisses her again, because now that he has her, he’s going to take his time with her. And the first thing he needs to do is show her how grateful he is, even if he doesn’t understand why he’s the one she’s choosing. He lays her down on the bed, her legs falling around him as he moves his mouth down to her breast, cupping the flesh there in his hand before lavishing her with his mouth. She gasps as he suckles and licks, then taking his free hand to her other nipple and experimenting with that as his brothers had said. She arches her back now and Peeta says a silent thanks to his dead brothers for not completely screwing him over.

She grabs his head and pulls him off. He worries he’s done something wrong when she’s moving him and saying, “Do the other one.”

He does as she asks, and she sighs, her eyelids fluttering and cheeks red under her brown skin. She looks down at him and smiles, fingers raking through his hair.

“Peeta,” she says, gravity competing with the dreaminess on her face. “I think…I think we need to stop. Before we–I can’t–”

He releases her and lays on his side by her, head propped up in his hand and his other falls to her hip. He’s hard, and he’s sure she felt him and knows it, but she’s already given him more than he could imagine. She stares up at him, then brings her hand to his face and smoothes a thumb over his lips. He’ll never get over how she looks now, her braid messy with fly-aways and gentle eyes and the way her chest moves with her breath.

She’s alive. She’s safe. She’s beautiful.

“Stay with me?” she asks.

He holds the hand she has to his lips and kisses her palm before lowering it and placing it on his bare chest, right over his heart.

“Always.”

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #thg fanfiction #non-hijacked peeta #fanfic request

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16-jarrah · 3 months

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mentioning LOST's church ending got me riled up about the racism in LOST again lol. i obviously am aware that some actors just did not return to production for possibly other reasons, but also especially in the case of harrold perrineau (michael dawson) he felt like his character (and walt, his son) was treated like shit by the writing. and he was absolutely right. i've already made posts about this (will try to dig them up later), but michael was treated absolutely bullshit and unfairly wrt the story. michael betrayed them and killed two people, yes, but what did he do it for but to protect his son? he felt like nobody gave enough fucks about walt and there was some truth to that claim. his whole character arc is about being a dad to walt and their improving relationship over the course of being stuck on the island, so of course he would do that. it just makes sense.

which is why i don't think it's all that fair to punish him for it immensely in the narrative. harrold perrineau said it himself that he didn't want michael and walt to be another case of the absent black father stereotype [citation needed, i'll look for it but he said it in an interview] yet that's what he ended up being anyway. after his and walt's escape from the island, apparently walt cast him away because he doesn't agree with what his father did—which i actually think its interesting to explore: walt disagreeing with michael's actions and trying to grapple with it, but i don't think separating him from his dad was the best writing choice to make. walt is being punished for caring about his son by making his son be the one to cast him away. you can argue it's supposed to be tragic, michael is supposed to be a tragic character, but with the context surrounding michael's character? there's better ways to make his character be tragic than this.

which brings me to his next punishment. i was happy to see michael again on the kahana (just happy to see him in general), but it didn't last long when he gets killed, sacrificing himself to prevent/prolong the kahana's explosion from happening. (put a 📌 on this bc it's similar to how sayid dies and we'll come back to that later.) michael dies here and walt doesn't know about this. and then michael joins as part of the whispers, his soul trapped on the island (presumably forever) and that's why he's not in the church ending.

i'm gonna be frank. michael being trapped on the island because of his guilt or remorse or perhaps repenting for his sins is just bullshit to me. a lot of characters seen in the flash sideways and in the church ending are characters who've done "bad things". it's bullshit to have michael be the only one doomed to pay for his misdeeds forever. his misdeeds for... killing two people. not that killing two people is Nothing, but moreso if you examine the circumstances it's hardly anything to be damned eternally for.

remember the 📌 we had wrt sayid and michael? both of them died trying to prevent an explosion from reaching everybody else. which makes this more egregious imo. i can say 1000 things about sayid's arc (points to url), but this is about michael and not him, so i'll just focus on this: sayid was grappling with "being a bad person" for torturing and killing so many people. he worked as an assassin for ben. and yet, somehow, you're telling me sayid is not being damned eternally for his misdeeds but michael is? if you don't see the BS in that i don't know what to tell you.

i'm also aware why some characters don't appear any more re:conflicts with their actors (or just availabilities or other reasons for declining to come back), but even then arguably any conflicts with harrold perrineau stemmed from a justified place because of how michael was treated.

i think mr eko had a more dignified arc (he's one of my fav characters, thematically speaking) and honestly he had some of the rawest shit i've ever heard:

I ask for no forgiveness father for I have not sinned, I have only done what I needed to do to survive. A small boy once asked me if I was a bad man, if I could answer him now I would tell him, that when I was a young boy I killed a man to save my brothers life. I am not sorry for this, I am proud of this. I did not ask for the life that I was given but it was given none the less, and with it I did my best.

but despite this it doesn't change the fact that his absence in the church ending is very noticeable. he had meaningful connections with charlie, with locke, and interestingly like michael he kind of parallels sayid but this time thematically through their arcs. sayid is constantly burdened with feeling like he's a bad person and resigning to it as some sort of self-fulfilled prophecy, but mr eko is very firm about how he sees himself as not necessarily a bad man, just a man whose hands were forced because of the cards he was dealt. i wish we could have seen a more direct parallel between them, because it would've been interesting. back to the main point: i think it's such a missed opportunity for mr eko to not be here. especially since even after his death, hurley was able to communicate with his ghost, showing that he still had connections with his fellow losties even long after his death.

ana lucia being "not ready to move on" is interesting. but ultimately you can't help but raise a few eyebrows at it anyway. you can argue that, unlike mr eko she died an unresolved death, but most of the LOST characters died with an unresolved death. (she was killed early.) that's the whole point of the sideways segments. so what makes ana lucia so different from the others? yeah she killed shannon, but that was completely a freak accident. her people (the tailies) were being picked off one by one by the other so she was understandably on edge. she was kind of a hated character but i think a lot of it is just racism and misogyny combined tbh. (LOST is...notorious for a lot of misogynistic character writing decisions.) ana lucia was just as complex and morally "ambiguous" as the rest of them. i find the decision to make her corrupt in the sideways segments interesting (negative). cz like, there was never any indication she was like this in real life. what does that corruption symbolize? because obviously that corruption is a key to why she "can't move on yet". what exactly is she supposed to be repenting for? they hinted at a possible direction her arc is going towards before killing her off, ie. her ultimately choosing not to kill "henry gale" because she no longer wants blood on her hands. again, in a way, she's just like sayid! someone who decided they'd turn away from ceaseless violence. only right afterwards she got killed. so what does she need repenting for so much that she's left out of the church ending? much to think about.

i don't really know how to conclude this post. but my main point is that the lack of these characters during the church ending is and has racist implications. (again, i understand the casting issues, but it's still a writing decision you can critique as a viewer at the end of the day). i'll try to find the old posts i made last year abt michael and mr eko and their parallels to sayid and link them here (and self reblog).

edit: go read/look up "burn it down". it details a lot of the behind the scenes mistreatment of the staff (including racism and sexism), including actors and writers. the quote from an interview from harold perrineau that i mentioned was also linked in a reblog. (post link)

#op #lost #lost abc #abc lost #lost 2004 #<- have we agreed on a main tag yet #michael dawson #mr. eko #ana lucia cortez #meta #analysis #media analysis #church ending #//#lostposting #<- my tag for LOST rambles on this blog

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